


From the Ashes - A Geralt of Rivia/OFC story.

by darklydeliciousdesires



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 64,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25839655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklydeliciousdesires/pseuds/darklydeliciousdesires
Summary: A full length continuation of my two part story, Huntress.Geralt returns to Arelle much sooner than he anticipated, his arrival the beginning in a chain of events to change their lives forever. Again, I apologise for the rubbish summary and promise a greater calibre of story than my paltry explanation has aluded to!Story is already pre-written, so I shall post new chapters frequently as long as there is a demand for them.Comments are very welcome! It brings me such joy to hear from my readers.
Relationships: Geralt of Rivia/OFC, Geralt of rivia/OC, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Other(s)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

After seeing Geralt out, Arelle quickly tossed another log onto the fire and ran back to her bed. Winters in her home of the Grey Mountains, a location out on a North Western point of The Continent were always harsh, even to those as well accustomed to them as she was.

Watching from her window she saw the snow begin to fall outside, the flakes coming down in an immediate furious descent from the sky, thickly carpeting the trees and forest floor.

What other places could receive in an entire day of heavy snowfall, the Grey Mountains would be covered in after just one morning. As Arelle dozed in her bed, this fact was discovered only too well by another a time later, a few miles away as he rode toward the edge of the forest.

“Fuck.” Geralt cursed, seeing the already deep snow he’d ridden through become completely impassable once out of the shelter of the trees. He wouldn’t risk trying to ride Roach over such terrain. She’d stumbled a couple of times as they negotiated their way through the forest.

Out there in the open, it would be perilous before he could find them shelter again, he wagered. He had but one choice.

“Come on. Back to the sprite.” Turning her around he rode her carefully back beneath the canopy, the trees bucketing snow down onto the forest floor as they became too heavily laden at the top.

He’d heard about the conditions out here in the Grey Mountains during winter, but never before experienced them first hand. He’d only ever visited the area when the conditions had been much milder.

He didn’t care for having to return from whence he came, mainly because he now had to rely on the charity of another since he was stuck and unable to continue his journey. Such aggrieved him.

Then again, until weather conditions improved it did mean he got to enjoy the sprite again, he supposed. “Every dark cloud, Roach.” He told his mare, smirking as he remembered just how delicious that particular silver lining was.

Even with the protection of the trees, the snow got so deep and tasking to negotiate by the halfway point that he dismounted and lead his mare on foot, wanting to make the arduous journey as easy for her as possible. Astonishingly, the snow was now close to her knees, at least two feet deep and showing no signs of slowing.

He had to use his sharpened senses to find his way back, not able to follow the hoof prints laid on his way out, long since covered with a blanket of snow. He mapped the trail via scent, being able to smell his way back to the cottage, Arelle’s scent becoming stronger until her home finally came into the view.

“I did wonder,” she greeted him with, looking utterly mouth-watering with her tousled hair, her nakedness wrapped in a wolf pelt.

“It’s too hazardous out there to even leave the fucking forest. Apologies, but can I impose until it clears?” He asked, shaking snow from his hair and ruffling Roach’s mane to tidy her in the same manner.

“You’ll be here a while. Go put your mare in the stable with the cow and the calf. There’s plenty of warm straw and hay. They like horses so she’ll be fine.” Jerking her head in the direction of the out buildings he’d only noticed on his way back, she retreated back into the cottage while Geralt led Roach around.

The stable was large and a little ramshackle looking, but sturdily built. There were a few other out buildings dotted around, more small stores than anything else, plus a little chicken coop.

He opened up the door and led her in, being greeted by a calf around five months old, spritely and friendly as he nudged his leg curiously. He took Roach’s tack from her and bolted the door behind him, smiling as he watched her take a greedy mouthful of hay and swish her tail happily.

“Look at you, becoming a spoilt, pampered mare.” He told her, turning and heading to the cottage. He placed her saddle down by the door, her bridle across it before removing his boots, seeing Arelle sitting by the fire with a large mug of pungent smelling tea. “Does it taste better than it smells?”

“Much,” she began, handing him another large, copper mug that warmed his freezing hands immediately. “I half expected to see you back, you know. Outsiders often struggle with our winters. Even large, hardy ones such as yourself.”

He made one of his trademark, non-committal ‘hmmm’ noises in reply, sipping the tea and discovering that indeed, it was gladly a lot easier on the taste buds than it was the nose. “So, when you stated I’d be here a while, how long do you envisage?”

“A month, maybe two,” she replied, pulling the wolf pelt up when it slipped from her delicate shoulder.

“Two fucking months?” He asked sceptically.

“It could even be three. This? This is absolutely nothing! Just you wait a week, see how deep it is then. It reaches halfway up the cottage windows, luckily the canopy of the trees saves me from being further deluged by it. Those out in the villages often have snow to their roofs though.” Although he had no dislike of his current surroundings, these were words Geralt absolutely was not fond of hearing.

Not for a while had he stayed in the same place for any extended period of time, preferring a nomadic existence to anything that resembled staying still or putting down even the most tentative of roots.

He was a witcher, he hunted monsters and he travelled to facilitate such. He found his work in the back roads and outskirts of villages and towns. “What have you had in the way of monsters out here recently?”

“It’s a little scarce up here because we’re not densely populated. It’s mostly mountain trolls, which we can usually deal with easily enough. Well, the smaller ones, at least,” she began.

“And the larger?” He inquired.

“Take them down as a team if enough of us sprite folk spot it. If not, we run and hide or appease it. I’ve gone through an alarming amount of livestock thanks to the big fuckers. If you want monsters other than that, you need to head to Rhinegaff and Fenris Morr. You’ll likely find work there,” she told him, the former a large town at the foot of the mountains and the latter a village about eight miles away.

“Then I at least have a purpose if I am to be confined to this immediate area for a while.” He felt happier about his isolation at learning this, knowing that boredom wouldn’t set in. He was, after all, a man who was never and would never easily be satisfied.

“After I’ve actually slept a few hours, I’d like to resume one of the chief purposes I had in mind for you.” Finishing her tea she then stood, uncovering herself from within the wolf pelt and taking it back to the bed with her.

Climbing in, she got comfortable as she heard her guest undress, joining her under the blankets shortly afterwards. She had every intention of sleeping, just as he did too as he lay on his back, resting his arms on the pillow above his head, his magnetic amber eyes fluttering shut.

“What?” He asked gruffly, opening them again after sensing he was being watched.

“I’m so tired, sore too,” she began.

“Same.”

“And I really, really need to sleep…”

“Same.”

“But you drive my senses so wild that I need you again before I do.” He took a deep breath in through his nose, grumbling slightly as he exhaled it slowly. “Same.” With that they reached for one another, mouths locking together in a consuming, heated kiss.

Of course, there had been women in his past who he’d craved insatiably, the last notable woman to him very much fitted that category. With Arelle though, it was vastly different. It wasn’t so much her – how could it be when he didn’t even know her – but how he felt when he was with her intimately. She was different somehow, but for the life of him he didn’t know why.

She was like a heady intoxicant, an ensnarer of his senses. He knew as he rode away a few hours ago that he would have to go back, to feel such divinity again. He just didn’t expect it to be so quickly.

Arelle’s verbal exclamation in response to him slipping his fingers inside her jolted him from his train of thought, frustrated at himself for a few moments. What was it with him and seeming to have an uncanny habit of discovering women who stirred such within his mind? No, not again. It wouldn’t happen a second time.

They rolled around the bed in heated union, hands and mouths travelling all over the other, their fervid exploration culminating in Geralt running his tongue slowly up Arelle’s spine as she lay flat on the bed, pushing her legs open a little wider before sinking into her heat.

She mewled softly at feeling him fill her to the hilt, his fingers combing through her hair to reveal the nape of her neck to his mouth, kissing and swirling his tongue across her skin as he moved slowly and deeply inside of her.

Everything in the early hours had been urgent and frenzied, but this by contract was slow burning, more careful and every bit as hot. She trembled against the fingers that danced over her ribcage, a breathy sigh leaving her mouth as his hands came to rest on her bum, gripping each cheek hard as he watched himself entering and retreating her molten, wet core.

He backed off a little when he could feel she was tensing out of pain, each shallower thrust making her cry out softly, her little hands gripping the pillow in front of her as she moved in a beautiful, serpentine motion in response to him. Sometimes, a very sizeable manhood the likes of his did have its pitfalls, notable sexual soreness for women he fucked as vigorously as he had Arelle the night before being one of them.

Turning her onto her side he then moved to lie behind her, lifting her leg up and then burying his hardness inside her again. He then remembered and backed off again, Arelle turning her head back and licking his cheek.

“No. I need all of you in me.” She purred sensually, making him burn with arousal. With that he obliged, thrusting back into her fully, hearing her cry out as her hand tangled in his hair and their mouths locked together.

The angle and the depth made her feel like she was absolutely alight within, closing her eyes as she felt him stroking her breasts, never wanting him to withdraw from her again, he felt so good. She had never felt anything as incredible as him inside of her.

“You have such a beautiful, tight little cunt,” he groaned, his lips gently tickling her ear. She was so hot and wet it was all he could do not to cum right there and then as he ran his tongue in circles around her neck, his hands trailing up and down the sensitive skin on the inside of her leg, making her shake.

“Mmmm, please fuck me harder, Geralt!” she panted incoherently, feeling him do as she asked and begin to slam his cock aggressively into her pussy, his fingers sliding down her leg and starting to rub at her hardened clit as she wailed loudly.

Both began to moan uncontrollably in total abandon as their sweaty bodies rocked in perfect unison, hands stroking each other, mouths crushing together in heated, urgent kisses, their pleasure swelling so strongly it consumed them both entirely.

Arelle felt immediately heavy with sleep in the aftermath of her release, just about having the energy to climb under the soft blankets and pelts, falling asleep with Geralt’s warmth behind her. In bed, they worked amazing well, but not knowing each other at all, well, such would definitely throw up some issues for them in the days to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

When they weren’t in bed together in the heated throws of a tryst was where Geralt found it difficult spending any length of time with his sprite host. He always did in the company of just one person, especially one he didn’t know whatsoever.

He’d never been a huge conversationalist, a man of fewer words than most, but talking to Arelle was an exercise akin to pulling teeth. She was even briefer than he with verbal pleasantries.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” He stated, five days after his arrival as he wiped a soapy cloth other Roach’s saddle.

“Neither do you, it’s been noted,” she began, looking over from where she sat, crocheting in her large armchair as the snow continued to cascade down outside. It had barely stopped so far. Looking up from her stitches, she noticed him staring at her as if he was expecting elaboration. “I only speak when something necessary must be said. I have no intrigue for small talk.”

“A commendable trait.” With that he went back to buffing the leather in front of him. He wondered why such bothered him when by his own admission, he was exactly the same as her in that respect. Trivial conversation offered no merit to him. He pondered a little more before landing on the obvious conclusion.

Any other woman, any other person for that matter who he’d spent any notable length of time with would have quizzed him by now, shown curiosity over who and what he was. Arelle hadn’t and this was something he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t sure what he found stranger, the fact she hadn’t asked him or that he had an ego over such at all.

Just then, something pricked their senses and roused them to alert from their relaxed states, both sniffing the air as they stood.

“Troll,” Arelle spoke, crossing the cottage and puling on her cape before arming herself with her arrow filled quiver, bow and sword. Geralt grabbed his armour and sword, pulling the items on as he followed her out through the front door. “I’ll be fine with this one, but hang around just in case it has a friend with it.” She then added before he watched her bounce off the ground, up onto a low branch of the nearest tree before springing to the next and the next after that.

Encountering the size of the troll as it came into view, Geralt moved forward and readied himself to take it on, expecting that Arelle wouldn’t quite be able to manage taking it down on her own. Or so he thought. She sprang from tree to tree until reaching her chosen vantage point, calling ‘Oi, up here, you big, ugly brute’ before firing off four arrows in quick succession, effectively blinding it with two in each eye.

She then sprang from the tree, unsheathing her sword mid-air before she landed on the troll’s head and brought it down into its brain, the large, green skinned beast wobbling before hitting the ground with an almighty crash.

“Impressive skills,” Geralt had to admit, although he felt a little peeved at not being required. It stung his pride, something he was not particularly fond of.

“Eh, you get used to it. I insist on living alone, so part and parcel of such is leaning to fight well,” she shrugged, pushing her boot against the troll’s head as she wrenched her sword back out again. “Just don’t ask me to enter one on one combat with anyone, for I am utterly useless with sword fighting. Help me turn him, I want to get the flints back from the arrows.”

“What else are you utterly useless at?” he asked, flipping the troll over easily before Arelle even got chance to grab on. He needed to do something by himself, redress the balance a little.

“Having patience for other people’s bullshit, fishing, growing any other vegetable than those of the root variety and having a reasonable tolerance for alcohol,” she replied, pulling her broken arrows from the troll’s eyes and putting them back into her quiver, ready to salvage the flint heads to use on fresh arrows. “When plied with beer, wine or mead, I become easier than the town whore.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call you difficult right now,” he joked, Arelle narrowing her eyes at him. “And that’s me banished from your bed for the foreseeable.” His words made her laugh, shaking her head as she began to walk back to the cottage, Geralt checking in on a very warm and content Roach before he joined her.

“How good are you at carving?” she asked when he entered, finding her sharpening a knife in the kitchen.

“Brilliant, but don’t give me a butter knife like that to do it with. Why do you ask?” he replied, removing his armour.

“We have a lot of troll meat out there, I’m not about to leave it for the wolves.” Looking up from sharpening her knife, she did a double take at the look on his face. “What’s with this?” she then asked, motioning to her own face in order to ask why he was pulling his in such a manner.

“You eat troll?” he questioned, slightly incredulously.

“It’s obvious that you never have from the rather strong affront of the face you’re showing me right now,” she noted, holstering her knife and clipping it onto her belt.

“I can’t see what would be palatable about such an odious, foul smelling creature,” he sniffed, retrieving a knife from one of his saddle bags, one substantially larger than Arelle intended to use.

“The meat is actually quite sweet. Give it a chance, it’s lovely with lots of garlic.” He’d try anything once, he supposed. Later that night he did too, after they’d spent all afternoon carving up the edible parts of the troll, some going into Arelle’s cold store, some being hung so it dried and the rest she bounced away with to sell to her nearest neighbours dotted around just as remotely through the forest as she was.

“Well, you were quite right. That was enjoyable,” he told her as she took his plate and headed to the sink, pouring in the hot water she’d warmed over the fire.

“I’m not surprised you were put off by the thought of such. Troll meat is definitely a delicacy to us fae folk more than it is the rest of The Continent.” Being a sprite, of course she fell into the category of fae, just as elves, pixies and actual fairies did also. “So what’s the most ghastly thing you’ve had to eat to date then? Any interesting kills that hunger has forced you to consume?”

“I’ve eaten some questionable fish in my time, but I can’t say food has ever been scarce enough for me to resort to eating a monster,” he told her, Arelle nodding.

“So, your most interesting kill then?” she then inquired.

“This year?” he asked, after pausing for a moment, raising his eyebrows.

“Ahhh, he needs me to be specific,” she commented, drying the clean plates on a piece of cotton rag.

“He’s an accomplished witcher, so he very much does,” he told her, smirking a little before taking a sip of mead. One thing that the sprites got very, very right was their mead. It was the best within The Continent, if you asked him. “Truth is, there have been many and they’re all interesting, mainly for the stories that are attached to each of them.”

“Then tell me.” At having her question him in such a way, something he’d already noted was lacking from her so far during his stay, Geralt should have finally been able to relax at being able to categorise Arelle as just like any other woman he encountered, no matter the capacity he was encountering her in. Yet as the night drew in, he found he still couldn’t.

She was different, no matter how much he tried to ignore such. She remained quiet while he spoke, just sitting there taking his words in as she listened to his stories, her eyes never leaving him. She very much liked to listen, this woman. Definitely more so than talking, yet when she did speak, her words were never trivial. He didn’t like how much he enjoyed that.

The last thing he needed was to encounter another woman who – potentially, at least – could turn his life upside down again, much like the last one had. Just because his time with Yennefer had revealed to him that feeling for another was something he actually was entirely capable of, it didn’t mean he had to like it, pursue it or even welcome the idea of such.

Contrary to what many, even witchers themselves believed, what they were subjected to in their training didn’t strip them of their emotions at all. It did, however, make them much more hardened than your average person. They had to be too. They were mutants, outcasts from society whose careers were life threatening. If they were to succumb to emotions easily, it would only make an already very hard life even more difficult.

The mess he’d found himself in at loving Yennefer had made his life difficult, undoubtedly so. Loving a woman who was never easily satisfied, who craved all the power she could attain and who, he came to finally realise, treated him very much like her possession, her trophy in the end, it had left him very jaded to the idea of letting himself be open to another relationship.

He wouldn’t have pondered it at all, but he’d had many women in the year since her and the only one who had made him feel anything vaguely similar was the one whose home he was now going to be forced to share for the foreseeable future. It was not comforting, to have met someone who pulled him in like this.

These thoughts brought him no ease of mind, but they also didn’t stop him from having copious amounts of sex with her well into the small hours either. With Arelle, the sexual was definitely something he’d never, ever be able to deny himself.


	3. Chapter 3

“No, don’t you do it. Do not get attached to him.” Arelle chided herself one very early morning in bed, lying there watching the white haired giant of a man sleeping beside her. Attachment was out of the question, yet over the past week since his arrival, she’d found there’d been more and more instances where she just couldn’t help herself.

He was – to concede – perhaps all she’d ever want in a man. He was handsome, strong, brave, interesting, only spoke when necessary (oh what a joy!) and perhaps the most skilled lover she’d ever known. She couldn’t get used to him being around though. 

She would never need him, goodness no. Arelle needed a man like a pig needed shoes; in other words, absolutely not at all and if anything, such would only be a hindrance. She was a steadfastly independent woman, but liking him being there was much different to needing him to be there. 

Perhaps it was the regular and utterly magmatic sex she was now receiving on a daily basis, having a lover with an appetite just as voracious as her own after somewhat of a drought. ‘Yes, that must be it’ she thought, turning away from him and attempting to go back to sleep.

Her brain had been prickled too much with the thoughts regarding the witcher next to her tumbling through it though. She decided to rise earlier than usual, leaving Geralt to sleep as she began her day with a wash before dressing. 

“Hmmm, exit via the window.” She said quietly after finding the door snowed shut. It was the usual way she vacated the cottage when the weather became this immobilising. 

“Good morning, animals. Are we all well?” she asked the expectant faces waiting for her to deliver their hay, shaking herself down after landing in a large drift of snow. Grabbing the shovel where she’d hung it up high on the side of the stable, she first dug out a bit of a better path to get around before fetching the hay, emptying it into the manger and having the calf, cow and Roach all amble over to eat. 

“If the snow persists, I might have to look into building you somewhere of your own, girl.” She told Geralt’s horse, the mare sniffing her fingers and snorting before going back to her hay. The stable was large, granted, but Roach could probably do with more room of her own. 

She had the space too, the clearing behind her modest home large enough for more structures to be plotted upon. She’d also planned on building something else too for when she restocked her goat herd, the last of her previous group succumbing to a large troll in the late autumn. 

With the snow actually beginning to slow and plenty of warm clothes on, Arelle decided to clear some snow from her chosen plot, at least for the purpose of making tentative plans for the new stable. She could brace the back wall against the remains of two large trees she’d felled for building wood, so the rest would be pretty simple to assemble. 

Hearing something behind her, she turned to see Geralt walking over to greet Roach, the mare whickering with pleasure to see her master. The sight of him, standing out in his all black clothing against the brilliance of the snow made her heart skip a beat, something she cursed as she turned back her snow clearing task. 

“It’s just attraction. Don’t overthink things.” she muttered to herself, beginning to shovel aggressively.

“Do you need any assistance?” he asked, approaching her dug out spot. 

“No, I’ve nearly finished now anyway,” she told him, concise as ever.

“Why are you digging over here? It seems a waste of energy since there’s nothing the snow is preventing access to,” he commented, Arelle finishing off by marking out the perimeter by dragging the shovel through the snow.

“A stable, for Roach. She’s a big mare, she needs more room.” At this he snorted at little, frowning at her.

“Why though? We won’t be here for long enough to necessitate the effort that’ll go into building such. You’re just wasting your time,” he told her, very bluntly. 

“I plan on buying a goat herd to stable in here afterwards. Believe me, it isn’t an effort just for you,” she snapped back, walking past him and back down to her home. Well, if anything was going to quell the little heart skipping moments, it was that, him being rude to her. 

She was a little taken aback by it, him suddenly changing in attitude like that towards her. True, he might have been quiet and a little aloof with it, but he hadn’t been rude to her in the six days he’d been staying with her. It didn’t end there either. 

All throughout the rest of the day, she found him to be surly and cold in tone with her. It wasn’t overt, not enough for her to demand a little more respect in her home, but definitely a noticeable change. Being quite pragmatic and not one to yield easily to emotional responses, Arelle chalked it up to the likely natural frustrations of being a nomadic man suddenly having to adjust to being cooped up. 

“Right, Geralt of Rivia. It’s been three days now. Three days of me having to contend with your snapping at me and being rude in general. Remember whose fucking house you’re in, show some respect and if you can’t do that then you can go and slowly dig your way out of the fucking forest. Am I making myself clear?” After three days and no respite, she’d finally had enough.

Arelle wasn’t one to lose her temper at all, but in this instance she definitely considered it to be call for some strongly delivered words. “There’s just no need for it. I’ve been nothing but good to you. For the love of the seven goddesses, you need to drop this bad attitude.” She then continued, referencing the pillars of the fae faith, the seven goddesses. 

“I think that’s the most you’ve actually said to me all in one go since I arrived nine days ago,” he told her, Arelle eyeing him dangerously, a little incensed that he had the gall to be verbally playful when honestly, he should have been offering an apology. “I apologise, Arelle. I don’t do well being confined; it makes me antsy. The rest…” He trailed off at that point, noting wanting to say too much. 

“Is something you’re not prepared to discuss?” He nodded in confirmation. “Then don’t. I appreciate the apology though.” With this she turned and headed back to her armchair, picking up the book she’d been reading. 

The truth was, it wasn’t anything she’d done wrong, why he’d suddenly turned frosty towards her. Quite the opposite, in fact. With every instance he witnessed of her being the kind of woman who attracted him more than just sexually, from her independent nature to her skills at fighting against something twenty times her size, as he’d witnessed in further instances with trolls since the first, he found himself pulled in further by the beautiful sprite. 

He absolutely did not want to be either, which caused to his sour attitude towards her. He knew what he was doing, he was subconsciously trying to make her dislike him, for he could sense her burgeoning attraction towards him too and knew that absolutely no good could come of it. He was a witcher. He wasn’t equipped to deal with this for a second time. He wanted no part of it.

The atmosphere was still a little tense between them, both feeling relieved for the distraction of sensing another troll coming into the area, both gearing themselves up adequately to go and take it down. Seeing the side of it as it crashes through the trees, Geralt threw out an Aard spell toward the troll, knocking it off balance as Arelle sprang up into the nearest tree, aiming for its eyes with her arrows. 

An Axii spell followed, stunning the troll enough to get closer and strike its hefty leg with his sword, choosing to stab it straight in the knee, of which he stood a few feet below. It was the largest troll he’d encountered coming through here, perhaps the largest of his career too. 

Taking her chance to jump onto its head and dispatch of it with her preferred final blow, Arelle sprang from the tree, suddenly finding her effort painfully thwarted when the stunned and now agonised troll swung an arm out, sending her flying through the air into a spin she couldn’t recover herself from. 

Geralt watched as she spun through the air out of sight, turning his attentions back to the troll who he literally began to cut down, the beast coming round from the stunning spell quickly and roaring in pain as it bent to try and grab him, felled finally by a long, silver sword piercing its eye and puncturing its brain. 

“Arelle?” he called, running through the snow in the direction he’d seen her little body flung in, looking all around as he gathered momentum. “Arelle?” he shouted again. Nothing. This was not a positive sign. Heading closer to the paths which lead to the foot of the Grey Mountains themselves, he finally sensed her through her scent, finding her sprawled across a large collection of snow-capped rocks in the middle distance. 

“Fuck.” He cursed at finding her unconscious, her head bleeding out heavily into the snow. 


	4. Chapter 4

Coming around, the first thing Arelle was aware of was pain, utterly deliberating pain all over her body. She didn’t know where she was at first, her eyes heavy, feeling dopey and dulled as she tried to sit up and talk. Her words came out as more of a garbled slur though, distressing her even more.

“Shhh, don’t move. I’ve had you sedated under a strong potion since your accident and it’ll take a little time to wear off,” Geralt instructed her, gently pushing her back to the bed once more. His presence was soothing, something familiar although her vision swam still. At least she knew where she was now.

“Accident?” She was just about able to croak, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear her vision. It didn’t work.

“A troll flung you a couple of hundred feet across the forest. I found you’d come to a stop against a pile of rocks, perhaps the worst of landings. You’re okay though, your head wound was the most troubling but I used a special gum to stop the bleeding and then stitched it together. You’re very lucky, had you been alone you’d have likely succumb to your injuries.” She nodded all she was able, the effects of the potion still swimming around and making her feel heavy.

She muttered something he didn’t quite understand before her tense body relaxed again. He watched her as she lay there in stillness before her eyes reopened, knowing the potion was beginning to wear off gradually. By the time it had though, she wished she was still under its effects.

“What happened to my knee? It’s thumping like I’ve had it whacked with a mallet,” she grumbled as he helped her sit up, sliding a couple of pillows behind her before gently laying her back against them.

“You dislocated it, your ankle and your shoulder too. I reset them all though. Luckily nothing is broken, but you’ll hurt from the many bruises you have for a while yet,” he told her, Arelle wincing.

“My head hurts awfully,” she complained, Geralt nodding before moving to the bedside table where he’d unpacked the many potion bottles he’d needed to care for her since the accident, adding a few drops to a beaker of water and then holding it to her lips.

“Just a few sips, it’s very strong but it’ll work sufficiently.” On this he was correct, Arelle feeling floaty and much more comfortable after a short time, starting to doze again. She slept on and off for a few hours, waking and gladly still feeling comfortable quite late in the evening.

“So, when did it happen, this accident? I can only just about remember it,” she asked as Geralt got up from the armchair and came back to sit on the bed beside her.

“Three days ago. With how much pain you were likely to be in from your head wound and reset dislocations, I thought it best to keep you knocked out. How do you feel now?” He asked, his brow still furrowed with concern that she couldn’t help but notice.

“Comfortable, at least. I’m struggling with the news I’ve been out cold for three whole days though. Are my animals okay?” she asked, Geralt nodding.

“All fine. The cockerel made a bid for freedom yesterday morning, but I caught him before he could get far. There’ve been another few troll instances too, three yesterday and one this morning, so I’ve been kept busy. You’ve plentiful meat in your store, the rest the wolves have picked clean,” he informed her, pouring a fresh beaker of water when she reached for it.

“Thank you for keeping things running for me. I appreciate it,” she told him gratefully, reaching out and stroking his forearm on impulse. To her surprise, he flipped his hand over and immediately reciprocated, stroking her arm as they shared a weighted gaze.

They seemed to slip into each other a little, becoming lost in the moment that definitely held an undertone of appreciation for one another not yet spoken or acted upon, until they both came around from it quickly, Arelle pulling her hand away while Geralt looked down at the floor.

“Is that venison I smell?” she asked, recovering from the moment where she’d felt herself become utterly lost in his eyes.

“Yes, I made stew. I’ll fetch you a bowl.” She was starving, not even eaten for three days. Thanking him when he handed her the bowl and spoon she began to eat while he returned to the armchair, sitting back down and reflecting on the little moment they’d just shared.

He didn’t like it, but he knew something had shifted between them. All the time she’d been unconscious, although he’d been nothing short of confident that he’d recover her, he’d been genuinely worried for her welfare. He wasn’t alone in feeling that shift though, Arelle thinking to herself as she ate (and yes, he could cook well too) just how grateful she was for him being there, looking at him through much softer eyes now that she knew he’d saved her life and taken such excellent care of her in the aftermath of the incident.

Her stomach filled quickly, not quite able to finish her food. She placed the bowl down on the table, stretching and feeling her body complain where her injuries hurt. Uncovering herself she was shocked to see how many scrapes, welts and bruises littered her legs, rotating her ankles as she smoothed her hands over her bumps, hissing in pain when the left one clicked.

“You might guess that was the dislocated one. It’ll be tender for a while but you should be able to walk. Do you want me to fill your ridiculously oversized bathtub for you?” Arelle nodded, smiling at him as he took her bowl away and then unhooked the large, copper tub from where it hung against the wall in the kitchen area of the open plan cottage, bringing it back to the fire. “Why have such big items when you’re so little?”

It was true, she did have furnishings that mostly dwarfed her. “The bathtub so I can almost fully submerge, the armchair because it’s nice to be able to completely curl up within it and as for the bed, well you’ve witnessed for yourself how much I sprawl when I’m asleep.”

“This has been noted.” It took a while for the required amount of water necessary to fill the tub to be heated, Arelle getting up with his help once it was and being able to hobble over. She took some of her rosemary and lavender oil and added a few drops before he picked her up and placed her in, the water immediately soothing to her overall soreness. “Better?”

“Much, thank you,” she replied, smiling at him widely. It was the kind of smile that made her ten times more beautiful, his insides jolting pleasantly as he watched her for a few moments before going to move away. “Geralt, get in with me?” She asked, halting him by grabbing his hand.

He couldn’t say no to that, although he wanted to distance himself from her more than anything in that moment, feeling that strong pull to her once again. She shuffled forward carefully while he undressed, lying back against him after he’d sat down behind her, resting her head back on his chest.

“Ahhh, that’s better. So much more comfortable,” she told him, Geralt making an ‘hmm’ noise, not able to relax. “What’s wrong? You’re all rigid and your heart has started thundering.” Turning her head she looked back at him and couldn’t quite reconcile the way he was staring at her, his eyes darting away every so often, like he was struggling with something.

It was at that moment that what he felt overrode what he’d been telling himself, everything he’d been holding onto unleashing when he leaned down and kissed her. Of course, he’d kissed her many times before, but the difference this time was the _way_ he kissed her.

She sensed it, of course she did, kissing him back with every bit of feeling, carefully turning in his arms and sighing a soft, happy sigh as he began to stroke her back. They lost themselves to it, that emotional state they both separately warned themselves against, not wanting to admit that they could potentially be more to each other than just temporary lovers.

There was no pulling back from it either, something within them opening and remaining that way for the rest of the evening. Geralt attentively washed her body carefully before soaping her mountain of hair, wrapping her in a blanket and kissing her head as he stroked her while they dried off by the fire and finally, holding her against his chest once they’d returned to bed.

“So, do they live close by, your remaining brother and father?” He asked, after they’d lay there talking, really talking to one another, sharing things about their lives neither previously thought they would.

“Not close, but not too far. I don’t see papa often, though. It’s hard for him, he struggles since I look so much like my mother. My sister’s too. He’s never really gotten over it.”

The loss she referred to was the deaths of her mother, two sisters and eldest brother, all lost to the brutal war of the fae, an occurrence that happened when she was just a child. It was the biggest hit to the fae people, also the reason why for the most part, relations between them and humans were still strained to that day.

Millions of lives were lost in a fight that was originally solely confined to the fae community, sprites, elves, fairies and pixies all standing up against their tyrannical king, a powerful wizard by the name of Mardryk. After the battles that ripped through the Continent, Mardryk having the advantage with his army over both fae and human, a resolve had to be reached before further destruction threatened any more lives than had already been claimed.

Much to the fury of the fae themselves, humans and their rulers alike, the appointed fae queen Kesrin decreed that so long as Mardryk and his Vulc army - the hideous creatures of war he’d created through dark magic - left the Continent for the fae holding of north Beiklin Island, his life would be spared. Kesrin considered this the safest option for her people as well as the humans. They, however, did not agree.

The human rulers were enraged that Kesrin had not only struck this deal without consulting them firstly, but that she had shown lenience towards the perpetrator of such abject suffering. This was what caused the rift between the fae people and the humans, a large, festering wound that for the most part would never heal. Even some of her own people had never forgiven her actions.

“Did you fight against Mardryk, in the war? I know a lot of witchers did,” she asked, carefully turning onto her front and resting her chin on his chest.

“It was something I mainly wished to stay out of, but yes, I did in the end. It was most definitely testing, fighting against Vulc. I’d been fully trained and out on my own for almost thirty years, but I’d never faced anything quite so formidable at the time,” he commented, remembering battling the huge beasts.

Vulc stood at roughly the same height as a tall man like him at their shortest and seven feet at their tallest. They almost looked like a cross between a wolf and a bear, but stood on two legs, their mouths unable to close fully for the rows of long, jagged teeth. They were covered in thick, short black fur, had small, totally white eyes and claws that could disembowel with one swipe. Then there was the other worldly noise they made. Even to someone like him with no fear of the beasts he hunted, he shuddered a little when remembering the ear splitting, eerie screech of the Vulc.

Some of the first significant scars littering his body had been from those horrific creatures, the three, long white lines over his lower back that spread to his hip were from Vulc claws he only just about managed to get out the way of. They were truly terrifying things, the likes of which Geralt was glad he no longer encountered. It was exhausting, having to take one down on account of their sheer size. The best bet was to either disembowel or decapitate them.

“I remember overhearing stories about them, how brutal they were. I think it was stupid, what queen Kesrin did, letting them and their master live. I worry sometimes, that they’ll try and return,” she confided, Geralt shaking his head.

“Beiklin Island is huge and plentiful. I’m sure Mardryk is content enough in his exile.” He wrapped his arms around her reassuringly, kissing her forehead, a gesture that made Arelle beam. She liked it more than she ever thought she would, being with him like this. Her usual disparaging thoughts were far from her mind too, the effect of this, actual intimacy rather than sexual intimacy like a potent drug. _He_ was like a potent drug.

“So, tell me more about your training then. I’m curious to hear. If you want to share, that is.” To her surprise, he did. She learned about him essentially being an orphan, abandoned by his mother at Kaer Morhen as a baby, where he would later train as a witcher. He told her the whole process he had to go through, everything he suffered to become what he was, including stories of the first few monsters he’d slain when out on his own.

“Sorry, I am enjoying your stories, I truly am. I feel quite sleepy though and my head hurts,” she confessed, fingernails tickling his chest idly as she stifled another yawn.

“Then you should rest. We can talk more tomorrow.” Arelle looked forward to that, kissing his throat and closing her eyes, falling asleep all bundled up in his huge arms. Whatever had opened up for his part, at least, she lamentably found closed the following morning.

Opening her eyes, she found she’d been cast out of his warm embrace, Geralt lying right across the bed, shrugging her hand away when she reached to touch him. Sighing a little, she turned over, feeling rejected. The warmer man she’d encountered yesterday was gone, and all she wanted was for him to come back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was hoping for some comments by now, but it seems not to be. I'll hold hope that feedback will eventually come and would hugely appreciate anyone kind enough to take the time to leave it.

“You should be resting,” Geralt commented, finding Arelle searching through her knitting basket by the fire after he’d come back in from tending to the animals. She was surprised to hear this after he’d recoiled from her touch that morning and barely communicated in more than a few grunts since.

The urge to be petulant and reply with something along the lines of questioning why he cared was tough to fight, but the more rational side of her won out in the end. She realised that he’d had a very tough life from what she’d learned about him the previous evening, never having a family or knowing such bonds of love. He made no mention of friends either, so perhaps this was new and strange to him.

He likely didn’t really know how to act around her, being someone who had been alone for much of his life, an outcast on the fringes of society now thrust into forced socialisation with one person he barely knew. Arelle might have been otherwise quite pragmatic and logical, but she had a heart, she was reasonable.

“I need to continue my knitting. When the spring comes, so do the markets and I need plentiful stock for my stall.” As well as the coin she received for the meat and pelts from her hunting kills, she also knitted and crocheted clothes and mixed her own oil blends too. Her personal favourite was the same as she’d used in the bath last night, lavender and rosemary.

She wasn’t to know, but having the smell of her all over him was something Geralt had enjoyed that morning, although of course he’d closed off the part of himself that had opened to her once again. He felt very torn internally, greatly enjoying the bond that appeared to be forming between them that night but at the same time, knowing he didn’t want to pursue it. But…did he really not want to?

Arelle wasn’t Yennefer, after all. His beloved Yen had been a cataclysmic storm upon his life, all fiery tempestuousness and hunger for more. She was greedy and possessive too, which had become exhausting to him in the end. Arelle, by contrast was much simpler. If Yen was a storm, Arelle was the eye of it.

She was strong yet undemanding, her quiet poise something he found soothing and steady. The fire within her though, what he shared with her when they had sex, it engulfed him entirely, the likes of which he’d never felt with a single other woman before in his life. Also, he knew she’d never make demands of him or ever truly rely on him, something which only attracted him to her more.

Then there was her beauty. She was so, so beautiful to him. The fact she was so tiny was definitely more than a novelty, him at his six feet two height towering over her barely five feet diminutiveness.

Her body was a work of art to him, all lithe muscles with a tiny hint of chub on her stomach which he found adorable, a full, round bum and the most lovely, long hair. Watching as she bent over to retrieve her knitting needles, her long sweater revealing the fact she wasn’t wearing undergarments sent a ferocious shiver through him. That body, it ensnared his senses entirely.

His favourite thing about her though? Her huge eyes, far bigger than his or those of a human, wide and sparkly, the most intense shade of green he’d ever seen. They reminded him of the same green as a fir tree, rich and earthy but still with a brightness there in the hue.

It was as he was standing thinking about all of this that he suddenly realised he was staring motionlessly at her, Arelle looking puzzled as she sat down carefully, beginning to knit. “You appear to have turned into a statue.” She commented, Geralt continuing over to the kitchen area and shaking his head at himself. ‘Get a fucking hold of yourself’ he thought, managing to rein back his thoughts, all bar one, at least.

“What are you doing?” she inquired when he came to kneel at her feet.

“Checking your bruises,” he replied, his fingers gently stroking them, his mouth soon to follow. Arelle wasn’t sure how to feel about this behaviour, his blowing hot and cold towards her. However, if there was one thing she truly couldn’t resist and never questioned about Geralt, it was when he was between her legs.

“Oh, I see. You’re doing a very thorough job,” she replied playfully, her heart fluttering when he actually looked up at her with a smile.

“Well, it’s prudent your recovery be under a very watchful eye,” he commented, running his tongue up her thigh and watching as she bit her lip and sighed softly.

“A very inquisitive tongue too?” she questioned.

“Mmmhmm.” He muttered as his mouth reached the uppermost juncture of her thigh. Casting her knitting back into the basket at her side, Arelle happily allowed him to pull her closer to the edge of the chair, gently resting her sore legs over his shoulders before burying his mouth against the hot sweetness of her pussy.

A long, breathless moan left her mouth as she felt his tongue tease tiny light circles over her clit, stopping and blowing on it while his hands ran over her hips. She then felt him lick a line from her clit back up over her stomach, pushing her sweater up as he went. She pulled it off just in time for his mouth to meet hers, giving her the kind of kiss that threatened to knock the wind out of her.

After kissing his way back down her body again he resumed what he’d momentarily halted, lapping at her hungrily as he groaned, his tongue covering every last bit of her hot, pink flesh with each slow, flat lick he caressed her with. She’d never been with a man who was so skilled with his mouth, who knew exactly how to drive her out of her mind with arousal in the same way he did.

She gasped at the sudden invasion of two thick, long fingers entering her heat, Geralt beginning to fuck her hard with them, making her wail. Her hands fisted his hair before running through it to stroke the back of his neck as she shook and wriggled, hardly able to contain herself. The pleasure he gave her, it bordered on agonising.

“Geralt, I need you. Right now,” she panted, having him emerge from between her legs immediately, kissing her wantonly as she began to remove his trousers, releasing the hard manhood within as he pulled off his shirt.

“How shall we go about this then, since you’re still tender?” he asked, wanting nothing more to pin her down and fuck her brutally, but of course knowing she wasn’t up to such strain.

“Switch places.” She suggested, getting up and hopping since she wasn’t able to put much weight on her left leg, sitting back down on top of Geralt with her back to him. She rested her feet on his thighs, shifting up and guiding his cock inside her, sinking down again and bracing her hands on the arms of the chair while he held her waist to keep her steady.

The position allowed for every last inch of his hardness to be enveloped within her silky heat completely, Arelle bouncing up and down on him at a steady pace as she gasped, feeling him kiss her spine as he growled lustfully. He loved how adventurous she was, tiring of the more standard ‘man mounting woman’ position some women were more than satisfied with.

“Mmmm, you’re so fucking handsome.” She told him, turning her head and kissing him. He began to move beneath her, the pace becoming quicker before it made way for all out sexual ferocity, both of them verbalising their ecstasy loudly, but perhaps not loudly enough.

“Afternoon, Arelle! We…oh shit we’ll wait outside!” She heard, the door opening and then speedily shutting as her brother entered the cottage and then practically threw himself back through the door, laughing hard on the other side.

“Was that…” Geralt began, neither of them stopping.

“Davrin, my brother and Clauda, his wife. That’s the first time he’s ever caught me shagging,” she laughed, beginning to really giggle as she bounced wildly still.

“It could have been worse. The armchair could be facing the doorway rather than the fire,” he commented, making her laugh even more before she composed herself, from laughing at least. They finished a little more hurriedly and quieter than usual, Arelle being assisted into her long, green skirt and black sweater before she finger combed her hair and hopped over to the front door.

“I’d say give me a kiss, but to be honest…no,” Davrin said, hugging her instead as he laughed. “Sorry I barged in on you both, I’m Davrin and blimey! You’re the white wolf! I’ve heard about you. What are you doing in the Grey Mountains, other than my sister?”

Geralt noted he was certainly a lot more talkative than his younger sister, he also seemed to have quite good humour and not be prudish in the slightest over walking in on them having sex. Then again, the fae people weren’t particularly chaste or bashful.

“I’m stuck somewhat, because of the snow. I’ll go and check the animals, re-dig the paths.” He left them to it, Clauda staring at him with her mouth slightly agape as he exited, turning back to Arelle with a facial expression that made her sister-in-law snort laughing.

“Oh he’s amazing, wow!” she exclaimed, Davrin piping up immediately.

“Erm, excuse me? I’m right here, your husband, the one you pledged your eternal fidelity to!” he said, playfully aghast.

“I can look,” Clauda replied with a shrug, winking at Arelle.

“I sense female talk brewing. I shall be outside assisting your new boyfriend,” Davrin spoke, shaking his head.

“He isn’t my boyfriend!” Arelle called, moving to sit down in the armchair.

“So, what is he to you then, if not your boyfriend? And why are you walking like you’re half crippled?” Clauda asked, taking a seat opposite in the smaller armchair.

“Just a casual fling until the snow thaws and he moves on again. As for my limping, a troll flung me into a rock.” Clauda winced at the troll flinging part, but then learned forward in her seat, looking curious.

“So, tell me about how you met that gorgeous, casual fling of yours then. Spare no details!” If there was one person she spoke to at length, it was Clauda. They weren’t just family; it was through her close friendship with Arelle that Davrin had met her in the first place.

“Well, I was out hunting when we met.” She began, before divulging the kind of details that were expected of her, Clauda looking enthralled as she heard all about the sexual prowess of the giant of a man currently keeping her sister-in-law very warm and very contented on those long, winter nights. Or afternoons, as the case were on that particular day.

“I am very envious of you, not that your brother isn’t wonderful in all respects, but what you’re currently enjoying? You make me feel very boring!” Arelle smiled, nodding as she looked away from her for a few moments, her smile fading a little when her current predicament outside of anything sexual with Geralt entered her mind. “What was that face about though, that little look of lament?”

“I don’t know, it’s…complicated,” she began, sighing and smoothing her hair over one shoulder, separating it into three parts to begin braiding it.

“How complicated can it be between two grown adults?” Clauda asked, a little perplexed.

“Because neither of the two grown adults in the equation are actually looking to commit to anyone, but seem to find themselves drifting closer together the longer they spend around one another. Well, to be truthful I cannot speak for him, but I suspect he feels the same as I do,” she explained, not looking happy about it.

“Then maybe the question needs to be asked again whether perhaps your stance on commitment might change in light of meeting him. You should then broach such with him, because to be honest in the brief time I witnessed you two together, it was quite obvious that there’s nothing casual about the way that man looks at you.” Clauda’s point was fair and logical enough, but Arelle would have been lying if she said the thought of that was perhaps the scariest thing she could think of at that moment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was absolutely lit up inside to log in this morning and see that I had comments. I adore hearing feedback from my readers, so for this, I am giving you an extra chapter to enjoy today! Since the story is pre-written, I can affford be a little more giving with the frequency of the updates. Thank you so much to those who reached out, you are fantastic and I look forward to hearing your thoughts as the story progresses further.

“My sister claims you’re not her boyfriend,” Davrin broached, after there’d been a long silence between he and the large man he was assisting shovelling snow with.

“She is correct,” Geralt confirmed, playfully flinging a shovelful at Roach, who was out of the stable with them, picking at whatever grass she could access that had been dug out for her. He’d been doing this every morning for her so she could have some time to stretch her legs, the mare not used to being confined for such long periods of time.

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. My sister…well she’s never been that way inclined. There’s a reason why she lives so far out and likes her own company,” Davrin replied, wincing at the end at little when he realised that he’d probably revealed too much.

“She’s faced a lot of loss in her life. I can’t say I blame her.” This comment made the sprite breathe a sigh of relief, for it looked like Arelle had gone a way to explain why she preferred to be alone. In truth that wasn’t the case, but being as perceptive as he was, Geralt had worked it out for himself.

Losing so many of her immediate family and then being somewhat shunned by her grief-stricken father probably did mean she found it difficult to make attachments. It actually explained a lot about her personality, probably just as much as how his background explained his.

“Yeah, she doesn’t form attachments easily, hence my surprise that she’s even let you stay here, no matter the capacity you’re staying in.” Geralt felt as if he wanted to ask more, inquire further into how her brother saw this, but refrained.

After all, anything more than what was tentatively beginning to flourish between he and Arelle was something he was still trying to resist. Also, he was very intuitive over the situation as it was, he needed no outside commentary really. He’d begun to question himself and his intentions toward the beautiful sprite quite enough of late.

No good could come from verbalising it further. ‘Because you know you might hear something you do not wish to, you coward’ he thought to himself, shovelling the snow angrily as he cleared the area at an impressive speed. Much to his annoyance, the snow began to tumble down again heavily soon afterwards, meaning Roach’s outside time was cut short. Back in she went with her bovine friends.

“I am actually quite glad I found a man of your calibre here today, you know,” Davrin spoke as he threw in some hay for the animals.

“Why, are you having increased troll activity in your area too?” Geralt asked, wondering how many of the brutes would likely amble down from the mountain that day.

“Yes, but that’s standard for winter. They come down further from the mountains to feed. It’s the rest I refer to. There’s definitely been somewhat of a monster uprising of late, which is strange since the cold does tend to keep them at bay. Arelle might have already explained that we seldom encounter your kind in our homeland as the work just isn’t here, but where we live up close to the mountain pass on the outskirts of Fenris Morr, there has been much to contend with recently.” This was music to his ears. His work was, after all, his life. He’d grown bored without it.

“What about Rhinegaff?” He inquired, Davrin shrugging.

“I’m unsure. I haven’t been up to the capital since the snows hit. With everywhere being so difficult to access, even for us creatures who can easily jump from tree to tree in order to travel, the bitter cold has kept people indoors. So, since this is your area of expertise, do you have any theories as to why a usually monster quiet area is becoming active, at a time of year it doesn’t make sense for it to?” The sprite questioned as they began to walk back over to the cottage.

“I’d need to see for myself to be able to answer that, Davrin.” With that, Geralt knew what he’d be doing for the next few weeks. It would be good to slip back into his usual routine and be away from the woman currently causing him mental duress.

This resolution immediately made him feel better, until he re-entered the cottage. Turning to him, she smiled, the immediate effect of such making his heart jump in his chest when he thought about her not being right there next to him. He cursed himself internally for it, of course he did.

At least one thing conducive could come of this though. If he still felt those little pangs when he returned to her, he’d then be able to gauge exactly how much trouble he was in. Then it probably would be better to attempt to find some kind of passable route and leave, stay elsewhere. This is what he told himself would be best, at least…

“You look very far away,” she commented, finding him standing by the window deep in thought later that evening, after her brother and Clauda had left. Coming to stand at his side, she couldn’t help but reach for him, wrapping her arms around his bulging bicep. She couldn’t help it any more than he could help return the gesture, shrugging away her embrace to instead put his arm around her, holding her tiny form close to his side.

“I’ll be leaving for a while in a few days. Your brother told me about increased monster activity in and around Fenris Morr, so to there I must head,” he informed her, Arelle’s arms encircling his waist as she nodded. “I want to make sure you’re better on your feet first and not hopping, which you should be given a few more days of rest. How are your aches?”

“Aching,” she replied softly, Geralt leaning down and picking her up, carrying her over to the bed.

“Then you should rest,” he told her, Arelle not looking happy about such.

“I’ll get bored. Unless, that is, you were to join me.” His loins burned with just the thought, but perhaps it’d be better if he actually resisted for once?

“I need to prepare for my journey.” He squeezed her fingers in his big hand before turning and leaving her to rest, Arelle feeling a little like she’d been given the cold shoulder again, but this time somewhat differently. This time, she felt it was with reluctance on his part.

The sun rose five more times before he was ready to leave, confident Arelle would be fine on her own for a time now she could actually walk properly. She was a little stiff still, but other than that well recovered after her incident with the troll ten days before.

In those five days, neither had really done much to deny that they were definitely growing closer to one another. Of course, the same heating up and cooling off behaviour existed, yet it had become increasingly fewer and far between in its regularity. They both still felt conflicted and adamant to stand by their original thoughts on the matter though, no matter that such was proving difficult.

“Don’t worry about Roach, she’ll be well taken care of,” Arelle told him as they stood in the doorway, Geralt nodding. He couldn’t take her, the drifts were too big to ride her through safely, but with his superior strength he could at least get through them on his own.

“I’d never think otherwise,” he replied, smiling thinly.

“And you…you take care of you. I’d be sad if anything happened to you. I know you’re brave and strong, but still. I needed to say that, because I think things have changed a little between us. Not a lot, but there’s been a noticeable shift,” she spoke, surprised she’d managed to voice a partial amount of what ran like a constant maelstrom through her mind.

“There has been, yes. I can’t be anything more to you than what I am though. I need you to know that,” he spoke with candour, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers.

“I don’t want you to be,” she replied, her hands stroking his chest.

“Then why do we keep finding ourselves like this?” It was a very valid question, although she never expected to hear him ask it. He was at least braver than her, to verbalise what she so far hadn’t been able to.

If all they wanted was what they had, then why, why did they find themselves so utterly enchanted by each other? Why did a very real, very genuine affection be seemingly blooming between them both? Were they fools to ignore such, or was it something else?

“Maybe we’re just indulging what could be, if things were different. If we were different. But we are who we are.” He paused from immediately replying, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs before kissing her head.

“Perhaps some time apart will do this situation good. I’ll see you in a few days, I could be gone longer though. It all depends on what I find.” With that he turned and left, heading on foot through the drifts. Arelle could only hope it would do them some good, otherwise they’d both likely to realise this thing between them truly was heading down a path neither of them particularly wanted to tread.

Geralt managed to cover a lot more ground than expected throughout the day, coming across a couple of mountain trolls but nothing in the way of other monsters, the further north he headed. That night, he found lodgings in a small inn about three miles out from Fenris Morr, ate and drank well and then retired to his small room.

It felt a little strange to have no one next to him in the bed, but he was soon asleep regardless since the journey had been tasking. He woke a few hours later though, instinctively reaching for Arelle and sighing when he found only an empty space.

“I fucking miss you.” He muttered, frowning as he turned over. Missing her after only a few hours did not bode well at all. He wasn’t alone though, for deep in the forest he’d left earlier, the sprite whose presence he missed was longing for him just as much.


	7. Chapter 7

“I really don’t know how to begin thanking you, Geralt. That’s both me and my sister you’ve saved the lives of now,” Davrin commented as they both came to a stop after jointly fighting off an onslaught of monsters the likes of which Geralt had never seen before heading so far north. This was troubling to him.

If new ones existed, then there had to be a reason why. That reason was of course usually of the sinister variety. Monsters didn’t just happen for no reason, not these ones, at least. In other words, someone or something had created them.

They looked like gigantic spiders, except with four more legs and huge pincers that could chop a man in half with one swipe. Geralt hadn’t believed Davrin at first, the latter tracking him down after encountering a swarm of them close to his home, where conveniently the witcher was lodging close by.

On that particular night, he’d happened upon the scene only by chance, going to collect payment for another job he’d done and encountering Davrin in trouble along the way. He nodded in acknowledgement of the sprite’s words, sheathing his sword once more.

“You can buy me a beer as thanks?” He suggested. Davrin agreed and with that they began the long journey back to the local tavern.

Geralt had been north for two weeks at that point, finding it just the thing he needed to clear his head, getting back to his work. He also quite liked the company of Davrin, who he’d encountered a few times by that point. He was a lot chattier than his sister, but not so much that he felt nauseated by his presence at all. He found the sprite quite an interesting character, again like he did his sister, except he didn’t want constantly bury his cock within Davrin, of course.

“What are you doing there?” He asked as they sat down in the busy tavern, Geralt absolutely not used to the fact that mostly, people looked pleased to see him. He’d been a reassuring presence over the past two weeks, very busily helping the people of Fenris Morr and surrounding areas deal with this sudden influx of frightening beasts.

“Adding to my list. The count on what I’m referring to as long legged pincer things is now at fourteen. See? It’s a tally for each day I’ve faced them. I need your numbers to add to it,” Davrin replied, turning the small piece of parchment to show him.

“Why keep count?” he grunted, wondering what the point of such was. He hunted them and he killed them; the interested ended there.

“So we may keep track of how many we’re dealing with, see if the numbers go up. I mean I’m no expert like you, but this isn’t normal, is it?” Geralt shook his head, gulping back his beer. “So may I have your numbers?”

He took a few moments and went back through the days, counting up how many he’d cut down and when. “Eleven.”

“So that’s twenty-five in total just between us, which isn’t to say we’re the only ones who’ve taken any on. Hmmmm, that’s troubling,” Davrin said, scratching the side of his head with the small pencil he held.

“Troubling is the exact word I’m using in reference to all of this too. Monsters like them, they don’t just come to be on their own,” he commented, Davrin leaning in closer to him.

“You mean,” he began, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “Dark magic?” he then mouthed in little more of a whisper. Even though the war had happened over fifty years ago, people still remembered. Using such words openly could easily incite panic, especially since people were on edge already because of the presence of said new monsters.

“Precisely.” Davrin felt a pit in his stomach at having his fears confirmed. At sixty-seven, he was just a few years older than Arelle at sixty-one, being only fifteen when the last result of dark magic wreaked havoc upon their lands. He remembered it like it was yesterday though and what he remembered was horrifying.

Although he didn’t want to rush away what would hopefully be a very long life (sprite’s lived to around a thousand years old, sometimes older) when he was still so young, he had been glad to put some distance between the event that has personally robbed him of so much. Even thinking about dark magic again had made those memories come flooding back.

“You look troubled by this,” Geralt commented, rousing him from the haze he’d dropped into, remembering how his elder brother had used the last of his strength in an attempt to get home, dying in a fifteen-year-old Davrin’s arms from his battle wounds. His other brother, sister and mother hasn’t even made it that far, their bodies destroyed by the might of the Vulc on the battlefield. “It isn’t necessarily him.” He then added, as if reading his thoughts.

“This is true. It has been fifty-two years, after all. If not him, then who?” he asked, refilling both their tankards.

“This remains to be discovered. I’m going to head further north come the morning, over the pass and closer to Rhinegaff since from what I’ve heard, this is the direction they’re coming from,” Geralt told him, Davrin nodding.

“Ahh, you could head to Fladtown. I’m told they’re experiencing the same. Could you do with an archer?” he offered.

“If you wish,” he replied with a slight shrug.

“You probably wish it was my sister accompanying you instead,” Davrin then commented.

“I don’t,” he snapped, making the sprite raise his eyebrows slightly and then hold out his hands.

“Steady, big fella. I only meant because she’s the better archer than I. I’m man enough to admit my sister is utterly amazing with a bow and arrow. Shit with a sword, but her archery is top notch,” he replied lightly, trying to smooth the air after inadvertently ruffling the feathers of the large man sitting opposite him.

Inside, Geralt fumed at himself, but nodded at Davrin to indicate all was okay. It wasn’t the sprite’s fault that he missed his sister. The truth was, his reaction had taken him by surprise though since for the last few days, he’d scarcely thought about Arelle at all. All his thoughts had been consumed by his work, relishing in hunting monsters once more.

The way he saw it, he wanted to remain north of the forest for as long as he could, feeling himself returning to his usual self and not being preoccupied with second guessing the situation, from both his point of view and hers. It had been a relief, being away from her. The mere mention of her at that moment had brought back what he was trying to distract himself from though. He missed her.

He had to admit, that longing was mostly sexual though, something that he felt reassurance over that he wasn’t about to have to face something he didn’t want to developing between them. Well, that’s what Geralt told himself…

“I can wager your friend isn’t as comfortable as you are. Look at this! All yours.” Arelle told Roach, the mare following her obediently into her brand new stable. It had taken her two weeks to build, proving a good distraction from being without the owner of the horse she’d constructed it for.

Watching as she pawed the deep, fresh straw bed, she chuckled when she lay down to roll happily, something she’d not had room to do while in with the cow and calf. She went to fetch her some hay from her store, throwing the armful over the door and watching Roach as she ate happily, swishing her tail and snorting.

Once she’d scattered some grain in for the chickens she was finished, heading back into the house and putting some water over the fire so she could begin filling her bathtub. Her entire house was spotless, all deep cleaned with her pine oil scented soapy water solution, cobwebs dusted, rug beaten for dust, everything except her bed. She couldn’t quite bring herself to wash the blankets that still smelled of Geralt.

It was a weakness and she knew it well, but one she indulged just so she could go to sleep each night smelling the now fading scent of him close by. It was a comfort she honestly didn’t expect to need, but didn’t deny herself it with any self-loathing like she might usually partake in. She missed him, that was all there was to it.

Going from having him there every minute of every day for just over two and a half weeks, even though in reality that was such a very short time, to not having him there at all had made her realise that what she felt towards him was more than enjoying him as a casual lover. She wouldn’t lie to herself, but in the same breath she wouldn’t tell him that either.

He was a witcher, a nomad, a man who found forming attachments very difficult. She wouldn’t burden him with that. She thought too much of him to put her feelings on his plate. It wasn’t going to go anywhere anyway. Come the thaw, he would leave and that would be it. Maybe she’d see him again, but likely she wouldn’t.

She told herself she was fine with that too, until moments happened like the one she had while sitting in the bath, hugging her knees and sighing with sadness when she thought of never seeing him again. Perhaps she wasn’t as hardened to this as she once thought.


	8. Chapter 8

“What the…fuck?” It didn’t work. How the fuck could his magic not work on them? Trying again he threw out his hand with a spell, but nothing, the creature still charging towards him, not stunned as Geralt wished him to be. 

An arrow pierced its head shortly thereafter, fired by one of the many sprites he was fighting with. Turning quickly he took on one about to assail him from the side, piercing it with sword straight through its head. 

He spun and whirled around, savaging every single beast that leapt forth, even with his superior strength and stamina feeling himself start to tire. He, Davrin and about another twenty sprites had been fighting the creatures in a bloody battle in the centre of Fladtown for much of the night, the creatures relentlessly stampeding through the village. 

“So are you still keeping count?” He asked, somewhat sarcastically as Davrin jumped down from a nearby roof, the men surveying their spoils. 

“Yeah, here’s my new summary.” Taking his parchment and small pencil from his pocket, he scribbled something down before turning it over for Geralt to read.

_Fucking hundreds of the bastard things. We’re fucked._

“We’re not fucked,” he began, amused at how Davrin surmised the situation. “We’re challenged, but never fucked. I think that’s the last of them now since this has been their main entry point to the village and no more appear to be coming. For now, we should go and seek sustenance. Lots of mead also.”

Davrin agreed, falling into step by his side as they walked back into the centre of the village and down to the local tavern. He tried to relax and enjoy the fact the air was lively with triumph in defeating that evening’s wave of creatures, yet he couldn’t shake the fact that his magic didn’t work on them. 

The more he encountered with these creatures, the more he felt pensive over the situation. A band of sprites had travelled further north and so far there was absolutely no sign of anything that could be creating them. They seemed to have simply appeared, for they attempted tracking them to absolutely no avail. This meant one thing; dark magic. 

A mage practising the dark arts could easily be sending them through a portal, this was something he couldn’t discount although he kept those thoughts to himself. He’d grown to like the fae people, he much preferred them to humans, finding them to be less discriminatory since they’d never treated him as an outcast. Suffice to say he did not want to panic them by putting the word out there that perhaps, this was only the start of something which could end up as equally big at the Great War. 

He stayed only a few hours at the tavern before wanting to be in his own company, alone with his thoughts over the matter of these monsters. He had to ask himself an unpleasant question here. Could Mardryk really be planning a return? 

It had been over fifty years, the wizard would be ancient by now too, well into his thousands in age. Why now? Why not before? Could a man so maniacal truly bide his time for that long? Walking over the frozen ground, he weighed it all up when suddenly a familiar scent drifted under his nose. Lilac and gooseberries. 

“Hello, Geralt,” Yennefer spoke, Geralt turning to view the woman he’d left a year ago and hadn’t seen since. She looked fairly passive, her beautiful face soft and expressionless, but there in her stormy, violet eyes, anger swirled. 

“Yen,” he greeted her with, not entirely sure what else to say. He had, after all, taken the cowardly approach at the end of their time together, leaving in the night with no word, just a single rose he laid upon her table. “What brings you so far north?” 

“I think you know,” she began, walking towards him. She reached up and stroked his cheek before her features crumpled into a frown. “It isn’t you.” She then added. Yes, she was definitely still enraged about being left alone, with no explanation. 

Yennefer knew though, he’d told her enough times that her possessiveness made it very hard for him to love her as he wished to. She might have been angry, but she knew his treatment of her in the end was in part her fault. “These monsters. They aren’t just attacking the north. There have been sightings my fellow mages and I have had reported to us, portals we’ve been tracking. That’s how they’re travelling.” 

“Your magic, does it work on them?” he asked. 

“No, surprisingly it doesn’t which lamentably means one thing. What was it he said before he first drove the Vulc towards his enemies?” she questioned.

“The magic of men is futile, for there will be no light strong enough to penetrate my darkness,” Geralt said, feeling a wave of dread spread over him. Mardryk. “Still though, until I hear of any advancing armies of Vulc, I’ll gladly refuse to believe it could be him.”

“Sounds like wishful thinking to me,” she commented, knowing him of old and of course knowing that he didn’t exactly relish in what was likely to come. “I’m only sorry that I’ll be completely useless to you, going forward. This will be a battle of men and fae, there’ll be no place for human mages. Well, there could be a place for me specifically.”

Running her hand down his chest and over his stomach, she started at him in the way that always entranced him completely, except for this time. This time Geralt grabbed her wrist before she could reach his crotch. He didn’t know how he did, the allure of Yen strong to him as ever, but he managed it. “No. There’s no place for you there.” 

“Are you absolutely sure?” she asked alluringly, her eyes softening to him. For all her fire and strength, she still showed her vulnerability to him. He still sensed love there. 

“Goodnight, Yen.” He wouldn’t be pulled back in with her though, no matter how much she stirred him still. He returned to the inn he was staying at and attempted to sleep, yet couldn’t. 

He had a lot on his mind already and now with the arrival of his former flame in the north too? Geralt could forget restfulness. With the moon still high up in the dark sky, he dressed again and walked instead, pulling his cloak around him as the snow began to tumble down. 

“This is why you should never bother with women. They’re too much fucking trouble.” He muttered to himself. He had just managed to get his head straight where Arelle was concerned, once again seeing the situation for what it was, something temporary. The presence of his great love so soon after that definitely upset the apple cart, as it were. 

His tour of the village led him to charter a longer path out of it, still feeling restless as he walked through the nearby woodland, listening to the hooting of owls. It was soothing to him, he was so little rested of late because of all the creatures so overwhelmingly plaguing the town. He craved a little peace. 

It was like this for the next few nights, insomnia plaguing him into taking night time walks in some vain hope they might help him drop off eventually. Every night he was out there, he knew he wasn’t alone either. 

“Why are you persisting in following me, Yen?” he asked, finally unwilling to ignore her presence any longer. 

“Because I don’t accept your refusal of me. I know that I’ve lost what we had before, but not the connection we share,” she told him, approaching from his right. “You know I soothe you as much as I do ignite you, so why not let me do a little of both? Four nights you’ve walked these woods for, perhaps I carry the solution to your predicament.” 

He didn’t know what it was, what flipped the switch within him so sharply. It was probably a combination of the love that still lingered for her, missing the woman he wanted her to be, but never would, the fact he was tired or almost three weeks without sex. It could have been any of those reasons that drove him to pull her into his embrace and kiss her, taking her back to the inn with him too. 

It was different for him that time though, compared to what he had shared sexually with her before. Very different, for all the way through it was not her who he thought of. Only one woman occupied his thoughts.

“Who’s Arelle?” Yen asked the following morning, idly stroking his chest as she lay next to him. “You muttered her name several times in your sleep last night. A lesser woman would be offended.” 

“A force I didn’t perhaps realise I’d have to reckon with quite as much as I now do,” he began, sitting up and sighing. There it was, the truth he was so desperately trying to run from. Arelle would occupy his mind no matter how far he travelled or who he took to bed with him. “Last night was a mistake. I’m sorry, Yen. It was our swansong, for good this time.” She nodded, not looking one hundred percent thrilled but like she at least accepted it. She did, too, at least this time she hadn’t been left in the night. In what often felt like a world built upon a web of lies, Yennefer appreciated honesty. 

He’d felt different to her last night, she’d noted. Though physically the same, the way he was when he was inside her was different. She felt reluctance there, something within him holding back. She knew it was over. Whoever Arelle was, this force he spoke of, her pull was greater to him than hers. She dressed, opened a portal and left, Geralt only feeling guilt in her wake that he’d succumbed to her at all.

It wasn’t right. While he owed no fidelity to Arelle, he still should not have done it. At least he could say it had given Yen the closure she had obviously sought, but it had made him really have to acknowledge a truth deep down within himself. He’d know for sure once he saw her again though. 

He stayed a further few days until the creatures began to deplete a little, hearing word that more had been found north, knowing Yen had probably headed there to continue her investigations of the portal’s opening. At least the people there would have her to advise them, even though her strong magic sadly could not be of benefit to the fight. 

With that, it left him free to make the journey most important to him at that moment, leaving Davrin behind and heading back to the forest. He’d know. As soon as he saw her, he’d know. 

When he entered the cottage after a long journey, he found her sleeping in her big armchair, looking so sweet and beautiful to him. Her tumbling waves were pinned up, a few loose sections framing her pretty face. 

Crouching in front of her he smiled, reaching out to stroke her cheek. Just then her eyes fluttered open, blinking a few times before she focused on him, her beaming smile making his heart soar. He knew. 

“I missed you!” She cried, scrambling out of the chair and into his arms. 

“I missed you too, tiny beauty.” He truly had missed her, not realising just how much until he’d seen her again. That was when he knew he’d know, that whatever it was building between them, it was definitely more than a casual attraction. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my reviewers for leaving feedback! I get so excited when I log in to see them there waiting for me to read :)

Lavender and rosemary flooded his senses like a comforting embrace as he kissed her, carrying Arelle to her bed and slowly undressing her. As usual, she was in her ‘I’m at home relaxing’ attire of long woollen socks and a sweater, with no undergarments. It always drove him wild with desire, the fact she seldom bothered with wearing them.

The slow, deliberate removal of her clothes was followed by his mouth, sprinkling kisses and swirls of his tongue over every last bit of peachy flesh exposed to him, desire blinding him as she reached to begin undressing him too.

Their mouths met once more after she’d removed his shirt, both gasping into their kiss, hands all over one another. Just the feeling of their naked skin pressed together again was astounding in the sensory. His hand slid down her side and between her legs, a shuddered breath leaving his mouth at feeling her again.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re this wet for me already?” He questioned, Arelle sucking his tongue before kissing him passionately again.

“I did say I’d missed you.” He laughed throatily, moving to kiss her neck as her nimble fingers undid the buttons of his fly. That’s as far as things got with actually removing his trousers, Geralt laying her back on the bed as Arelle guided him into her heat, too desperate to be inside her again to be bothered with undressing himself properly for that moment.

He was hugged sumptuously in hot, wet velvet, withdrawing and pushing back in hard, making her cry out as he filled her deeply, giving her exactly what she’d craved in his absence. She utterly revelled in the feeling of his hard body pinning her to the bed, his weight constricting slightly, but oh so erotic.

His hungry mouth kissed the life out of her as he moaned, resting his weight on one forearm while he moved the other to stroke her thigh, mouth at her neck as he began to move faster, Arelle so wet and tight around him he could barely stand how sumptuous she felt. She began to pant and moan uncontrollably, her hips rising to meet each of his thrusts as she dug her nails into his back, muscles clamping, breath ragged and her heart thundering until…

“Ahhhh, fuck!” she screamed, coming undone furiously, hardly able to believe he’d made her cum so quickly. He allowed himself to be turned onto his back, Arelle still recovering from her orgasm as she began driving down onto him hard, absolutely insatiable for him. She drew his legs up behind her, holding them as she leaned back against his strong thighs, rotating her hips in a way that had him moaning relentlessly, eyes tightly shut as he lost himself to her completely.

It was the kind of all-consuming sex that hadn’t a hope of lasting longer than it did, Arelle riding him headlong into his burning release with her frantic movements atop him, collapsing down on his chest as they both fought for breath in the aftermath. Eventually he disentangled from his trousers, Arelle going to put more logs onto the fire as the late afternoon brought with it a drop in temperature, joining him in bed again where they lay and talked. They mostly spoke of the situation north, the monsters he had faced, Arelle liking that he and her brother had met up there and faced them together.

They then spoke of the deeper feelings for one another they were experiencing, admitting that it was something more than a finite fling through the winter months.

“If something more were to happen, I don’t know how much you’d see me. I have to travel to work, after all. I cannot promise I would be particularly present,” he told her candidly, Arelle sitting up a little as he stroked her thigh.

“I’d never expect you to be, Geralt. I would absolutely not demand you change who you are or what you do to suit me. Besides, you not being here all the time very much suits the person I am. If I were to entertain a romantic relationship with you, I wouldn’t need you there all the time,” she reassured him.

It was this that had pulled him in initially, the fact he knew she wouldn’t make his life difficult for the sake of being with her. She wasn’t like Yen in that respect. Speaking of his former love…

“There is something I should tell you though, in the interests of being honest,” he began, before detailing his time with Yennefer, back when he’d first met her. He told her that it was the possessive behaviour which had eventually driven him away and soured him to the idea of ever being with a woman in such a way again, until she’d come along, that was.

“To be completely truthful to you, I must also confess that after seeing her at Fladtown, we ended up in bed together three nights ago. While there’s a part of me that will always love her, I’ve moved on from her. I realise that to be true since the whole time I was with her, all I could think of was you,” he then revealed, expecting a reaction. Arelle gave none though.

“You thought I’d be hurt at that, did you not?” she questioned, Geralt making an undecided facial expression.

“Maybe? I didn’t want you to be, though,” he quickly interjected with.

“I’m not. I stake no claim over you, you owed me no loyalty. You still don’t, to be honest. I wouldn’t expect you to be faithful to me unless there was a commitment there, and so far there is none,” she replied, pragmatic as ever. “Let’s just see, shall we? See how such fits with two people who have done nothing but back off from the idea so far.”

“I think this is sensible. Would you mind if I were not sensible for a while though? I want to eat.” Turning her onto her back he then vanished beneath the blankets, kissing his way down her body.

“Oh, I thought you meant food!” she exclaimed, laughing a little.

“No. Just an enchanting sprite.” She shook with gratification when she felt his fingers sliding over her sex, opening her up like pushing the petals of a flower back and making her clit stand out to his eager tongue. She threw the blankets off them, wanting to watch him as he licked her, those amber orbs staring up at her as he winked and then slowly shut them again.

He’d missed the feeling of her against his mouth, demonstrating this in the way he licked at her ardently, Arelle scarcely able to lie still as he pleasured her hungrily. Each sweep of his tongue over her bud made her muscles bounce beneath her skin, her body gently quaking as intense tingles rushed through her.

He built her up steadily, stroking her hot skin as his tongue began to move with more purpose, a harder beat administered, wanting to get her as close as he could to being tipped into bliss before…

“Oh, why did you stop?” she demanded, Geralt turning to kiss her thigh.

“They do say delayed gratification is the height of pleasure,” he told her, Arelle raising an eyebrow at him curiously.

“Who’s they?”

“Geralt of Rivia.” That was the last thing he said before grinning wickedly at her, his mouth reconnecting with her heat once more. On he continued, once again escalating her pleasure only to cease all stimulation right at the crucial moment, making her growl with frustration as she glowered at him. He only found such a reaction entertaining. She was adorable when she was angry.

“No, no. Not yet,” he told her moving back up her body to kiss her after – and much to her fury – stopping again when she was teetering on the very brink.

“Geralt! This is torture!” she complained before she was silenced with another kiss, her body shaking violently against his.

“You shan’t be saying such when I finally do allow you to cum.” Back down his head went to continue the vigorous ministrations making her feel like she was burning all the way through her groin. The addition of his fingers inside her did nothing to disparage this, her slippery inner walls gripping them as he began to plunge them into her forcefully.

She was curling ever tighter within, hands gripping the pillow beneath her head as she gasped and cried, sweat starting to roll down her as she shook violently. It was the height of desperate need, consuming, burning, pent up arousal coursing through her with nowhere to go. Again he stopped, though that time would be the last. He ate at her fervently and without pause, coaxing her release out of her with a series of extremely precise flicks of his tongue, her release bubbling up like water, about to boil, so close and then…nirvana. It was a rapturous sweep that lit up every single nerve ending in her body, a noise close to an animalistic howl leaving her mouth.

She felt floaty, her mind foggy as she tried to overcome the unbelievable sensations he’d conjured within her. The next thing she felt within was every last inch of his hardness sliding in effortlessly. He lifted her off the bed so she was astride him, their bodies clasped together in an erotic entanglement as she began to roll her hips against him, feeling his colossal length nudge at her sweet spots.

Their feverous sexual marathon continued until hunger for food rather than each other drove them to cease, searching for sustenance. After raiding the cold store for a selection of meats, they sat down and ate, Arelle slicing some of the bread she’d baked earlier too as they sat by the fire for warmth and talked more about the situation north.

It was agreed she would go back with him in two days’ time, selling off the remainder of her animals en route so she didn’t have to find someone to look after them at short notice. It would make a change for her, although a creature of habit she had no issues with adjusting to something different. Also, it meant she got to be with Geralt, to watch him work and even assist.

“It’s a good job you don’t scare easily,” he commented, washing down a mouthful of bread with some ale. “Just wait until you see them. I guarantee you’ve probably never witnessed anything like it before.”

“I look forward to it. Hunting monsters and getting to bounce around on a big ole’ cock whenever the mood takes me? What’s not to like about such a picture.”

He gave her a curious look as he finished his ale, shaking his head slightly.

“What?” She asked.

“I’ve never met anyone quite like you.” It was the truth, he really hadn’t.


	10. Chapter 10

“Follow my footsteps though this part, it’s rocky but Roach will get her footing if you dismount and lead her through.” Arelle told Geralt as they headed north, the sprite moving on ahead at the kind of speed she was capable of and checking the trails for the safest routes to take through the deeper parts. It wouldn’t be until they reached a little more civilisation that the roads would be ploughed.

On they went, carefully negotiating the way before they saw just that a while later, two huge Shire horses attached to a plough, clearing the route about five miles out of Fenris Morr.

“Do you tire yet?” he asked as she sprang from tree to tree, about a mile into the ploughed routes.

“Not much, why?” she asked, pausing on a branch just above where he was about to ride under.

“Watching all of your bouncy parts bounce for the last couple of hours has put me in the mood to get out of the saddle and into you.” Arelle jumped down from the tree so quickly, he could but laugh quietly as he got down from Roach, leading her under the trees.

He set her off to graze before following where Arelle had moved to, finally finding her in a patch that was so darkened from the canopy above that no snow had fallen. Something definitely had though. “Oh look, all of your clothes mysteriously fell off.” He observed, raising an eyebrow. His tone always remained fairly deadpan, but it was his facial expressions that conveyed his humour.

“I know! I hate it when that happens.” She joked back, his arms sliding around her to grasp her bum as they began to kiss, Arelle squeaking into his mouth when he slapped it a few times. They’d been utterly insatiable for one another since he’d returned to the forest, needing to enjoy one another at least a couple of times a day.

She kissed him ardently, pressing her body against his for warmth as she trembled. Surprising him with her total nakedness was just about a worthy trade, what would follow would definitely be constituted as such. Feeling a hard, hot mass forming against her stomach, she sank down to crouch in front of him, freeing his hard cock into her mouth.

He let out a shuddered breath, fingers stroking through her hair as he watched himself vanish into her throat, whispering ‘fuck’ in exclamation as she slowly dragged her lips back up his length again. A lustful quake rippled his well-defined abdomen when her tongue dragged around the head of his cock, Arelle gently pulling his foreskin back and sucking on him as she locked her eyes on his, moaning softly.

The things this sprite did to him…she drove him utterly out of his mind with desire. To strip off in the middle of winter, in the north, no less, all because she wanted him? He’d never been with a woman who had that kind of daring about her before, but as he was learning, Arelle truly was like no other in a lot of respects. It’s why he was a moth to her flame.

“So, what do you want to do? Bend me over and fuck my tiny little cunt from behind, or pick me up and drop me on your cock? Either way, handsome, I’m going to scream for you.” Then there was when she talked to him like that. She was an absolute temptress, one who enjoyed teasing him within an inch of his sanity. Sprites…they were utter filth.

“I think the latter.” He growled, pulling her up and lifting her to do exactly what she’d suggested, impaling her onto his steely hardness with a satisfied grunt. She tightened her legs around him as he began to lever her up and down, kissing her neck as she panted, hands gripping his armour.

Walking her backwards until she was pressed against the nearest, broad trunked tree, he moved to grip her thighs as he began thundering into her at a voracious pace. Half was out of need, the other because he could feel her excessive trembles were from the fact she was freezing.

This caused her to keep to her word, screaming in ecstasy as he fucked her without pause or reserve, driving every last inch of himself into her wetness savagely as he groaned against her neck. Gripping his shoulders hard, her legs tightened as her inner walls went into spasm around him, her orgasm rushing through her feverishly as he came moments after.

“Arelle?”

“Hmm?”

“Never change.”

She laughed at this request, catching her breath as she kissed him before the cold drove her back into her clothes. Back out on the road, she took to the trees again to be the lookout, able to see so much further from her vantage point almost thirty feet up from the ground.

The road to Fenris Morr was quiet, with them stopping to stay in the village for the night before they continued on to Rhinegaff the following morning. That journey they both took on foot, the snow too deep in places to safely negotiate Roach through, so she got to stay behind in one of the innkeeper’s stables.

They finally arrived in the town at nightfall, managing to find lodgings for the night and meeting up with Davrin, who was drinking with a small group that included the archers Geralt recognised as well as a few women he didn’t. One recognised Arelle though.

“Arelle, it’s been so many years!” she exclaimed, getting up to embrace her warmly. The women had been friends since childhood but since they now lived so far apart, seldom saw one another regularly. Arelle was absolutely overjoyed to see her. Living so remotely, being social with her friends was often a difficult task. This made the times she did extra special.

“It has, Daida. I’m well, how are you? Still the queen’s mage?” she inquired as they sat, Davrin pouring out ale for them both.

“One of them. She has three of us on her counsel, but has sent me out to meet with some fellow mages in an attempt to cease this portal activity we’re facing. We’ve cast enough wards around Fenris Morr to prevent them being able to open here, but up in Rhinegaff it’s shocking. It’s taking so much time to even attempt to secure a city of that size.” Arelle nodded, taking a moment to introduce her to Geralt before their talk continued.

“She’s going to call a public meeting, the queen. I’ve been made privy to some delicate information which I am not to reveal, but she will be doing so tomorrow at her grand halls. All who intend to fight are welcome,” Daida continued, Geralt listening too.

“It sounds like the queen is gearing up for war. What further proof does she have that confirms this?” he asked, Daida shaking her head.

“I cannot say, but yes, she is expecting a war. She’s right to, there’s one coming.” At hearing this he frowned, thinking to himself that it wouldn’t be happening in the first place if she’d actually done a sufficient job all those years ago and had Mardryk’s head for his crimes. Sending him off to Beiklin Island had been a ridiculous solution.

He wasn’t about to reveal such to one of her mages, but he did share his thoughts with Arelle later that night in bed.

“I think from what I’ve been hearing, I must go back on my thoughts that Mardryk was content in his exile. I’m just waiting for it, for them to appear,” he told her, stroking her back as he held her to him.

“Vulc?” He nodded in confirmation. This made her shudder a little, just the thought of the creatures who had decimated her family returning.

A confident archer she may have been, but Arelle had never known battle and faced with the prospect of fighting a beast that made even the most hardened of men – case in point her lover – feel dread, she knew she’d have her work cut out for her. Life was about to get extremely difficult.

“Be confident in your abilities, Arelle. You’re an excellent archer, you’re swift in movement too. You’ll make a formidable opponent, come what may,” he told her. She turned onto her front and kissed him, grateful over his faith in her. It was nice to hear.

“If only we still had the dragons,” she sighed.

“They’d be an intimidating ally, yes.” Years ago, before the Great War, dragons and the fae people had lived harmoniously. The Grey Mountains had even been home to some of the great beasts, before the results of the war made their alliance to one another crumble into bitter resentment, one the likes of which had never truly been resolved.

The sprites were the true companions of the dragons out of all the fae. They’d been the dragon riders for centuries, yet the decisions of Kesrin had completely scuppered such. They were also the only people who could communicate with dragons. Sure, any person could talk to a dragon in the common tongue and the beast would understand, but only sprite ears would hear their reply. To everyone else, it just sounded like quiet growling.

Not that anyone spoke to the dragons these days. They’d gone back to their ancestral home of Dragon Mountains, never to return, too soured by the great loss of lives as well as the deceit they considered Kesrin’s actions to be.

Nilhir the Black, the oldest and hugest dragon of them all had personally vowed to incinerate any sprites who dared ever broach the territory again, so to that day no resolve between sprite or dragon had ever so much as been attempted. Everyone knew Nilhir of old, he was vengeful and full of wrath, his old heart still likely full of sadness that his kin once stretched to over sixty dragons and after the war, just five survived.

They had been brought down from the air, burned alive from the inside by their own fire ignited from spells cast by Mardryk and his dark mages. It was an awful way for such majestic creatures to die. Geralt had witnessed one perish first hand, the beast almost crushing him with his wing on the battlefield as it fell from the sky.

War contained many horrors, all of which he was likely to see again. For that moment though, he busied himself with what was right in front of him, with sublime beauty instead, with someone that made him feel the very opposite of horror.

“Mmmm, again?” Arelle questioned as he turned her over and began kissing her breasts. He didn’t reply in words, but the look she received from his bright amber eyes was all the answer she required.


	11. Chapter 11

“You’re walking bow legged,” Geralt commented, looking amused as he, Arelle and the group of sprites they’d met with the previous evening arrived on the outskirts of Rhinegaff. The others walked ahead while they walked together at the rear.

“Do you blame me? I can barely shut my legs, I’m so cock sore!” She whispered in reply, making him snort with laughter as he grabbed her hand. 

“I’d apologise, but you loved every moment,” he told her, kissing her fingers before letting her hand go again. He wasn’t really much for public displays of affection, but sometimes little gestures such as those couldn’t be helped. He was becoming more enamoured with her as the days passed by. 

“I did. You utter violator.” He looked smugly proud of being called such, as she knew he would. She’d had to wear her hair down that day in order to cover the bite marks all over the back of her neck, something he enjoyed branding her with when his arousal spiralled beyond him being able to control such. 

Arelle put all thoughts of her enviably hot sex life aside as they entered the gates of the royal city, the streets all busy with the hustle and bustle of life in the capital. It been many years since she’d travelled there and a first visit for Geralt, who’d never been this far north before. His eyes were everywhere as he took it all in, marvelling at what a beautiful city it was. 

They made wonderful use of space, he noted, seeing so many small treehouse homes dotted around the huge evergreen trees as they walked through throngs of people going about their daily routines, two large horses dragging a plough ahead. People sold their wares on carts, women doing a roaring trade in blankets and winter clothes and men selling the catches of the day from their ice fishing endeavours. 

“Curse it, I should have brought some of my creations. I could have earned,” Arelle fumed when she took in the market sellers, forgetting that very little put people off in the far north and thusly the markets ran all year around. 

“Next time.” Geralt told her, his hand finding hers again but this time not letting go. Arelle was greatly surprised by such an action, her big, usually quite surly man openly showing his affection for her in such a way. Was he hers now though? 

They hadn’t confirmed such, nor talked about what was growing between them since their conversation back at her home. Was this a relationship? Whatever it was, it was attracting attention. She noticed him taking in the stares, the whispers audible to them both. 

“I perhaps should have mentioned that whereas my people have no issues with witchers, us being involved with anyone non-fae is still a pretty big taboo,” she explained, unsure if he’d ever heard such.

“That explains the looks of disgust,” he commented, not particularly caring. 

“Let them look. It’s mostly older folk who can’t reconcile the notion that we may be attracted to those outside of our kind. Younger fae find such curious, but not anything worth being impudent about.” She directed her last words louder and towards a woman who had just called her immoral, staring at her defiantly. 

“We fuck, get over it,” Geralt added in his usual dry baritone, finding it entertaining when she looked quite aghast. 

“Are you horrifying people back there, Geralt?” Davrin called over his shoulder.

“Apparently,” he confirmed.

“Ah, good man.” He and a few of his friends turned and laughed, Arelle smiling up at him too. 

“Behave.” She warned, Geralt doing the exact opposite and stopping to kiss her. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but make room for a little provocation. 

On they continued until they reached the grounds of queen Kesrin’s palace, a huge, towering structure carved into the very rocks of a mountain, two gigantic waterfalls either side which cut impressive figures, currently being frozen. 

“Look at the guard presence all around. If that isn’t a pre-emptive safeguard over the fact she’s going to declare the Kingdom to be at war, I don’t know what is,” Geralt commented, the further toward the palace they got. Guards in full military regalia stood statue like lining the route, Arelle looking around to see many of the queen’s archers taking vantage points up on the rocks too. Kesrin was expecting an uproar. 

“To which she’s terrified someone will quite rightfully stand up and lay the blame at her door over. She shouldn’t have been such a pushover and I’m not the only person to think so. She’s expecting a riot that will likely happen.” She agreed, very quietly so only he could hear her. Saying such openly around an overwhelming number of armed guards would be the height of careless stupidity.

Once they reached the great hall, they found the entire huge room rammed to capacity, standing in the back corner, the guards letting through another fifty people before the rest were sadly turned away. There within were huge groups of not only sprites, but elves, pixies and fairies too, the latter courteously making room for the rest by hovering in the air. 

The chatter all around died down as the mages all walked forward and took their places behind and to the sides of Kesrin’s throne, the queen then following and taking her seat, her subjects bowing before her. This made Geralt feel like even more of a giant than he already did, since he wasn’t about to bow to a queen who was not his. Geralt of Rivia bowed to no one. His fealty was to himself. 

“People of the Grey Mountains, welcome,” Kesrin began, standing from her throne and walking forward to be closer to her people. At nearing the masses, her guards standing between her elevated position and the people below stood a little extra alert though. “I only wish I was inviting you to my palace under happier circumstances.” 

“And now for the crowd-pleasing drivel penned by one of her advisors.” Geralt whispered, Arelle nodding in agreement. However, what was to follow surprised them both greatly. 

“You are of course all very aware of the increased monster activity within Rhinegaff and the north on a whole. There have been many whispers exchanged over the cause and ultimately who the perpetrator behind their presence actually is. With the invaluable assistance of my mages, I have been able to procure this information. Alas, it is Mardryk.”

Gasps and other noises of concern rippled the assembled crowd, most looking like they’d already guessed as much though. “His attempted return to the Continent is the fault of one person and one person alone. I of course, am that person. At ignoring the advice of just about everyone, from my advisors to the other rulers of the various Kingdoms, I made the wrong decision. 

“The mistake was mine alone, but the fight to prevent Mardryk returning to these shores must be a united effort. Alas we are not alone in coming under attack from his forces, for I am told as of two days past, Vulc have been sighted in the south, with Ebbing, Nilfgaard and Cintra all reporting incidents.” 

“Wow, I certainly wasn’t expecting such an admission of fault,” Arelle said, looking up to Geralt. He cast his eyes down briefly to acknowledge he’d heard her before listening to the queen continue. She spoke of alliances with the Kingdoms who were also under attack (they likely still hated her, he deduced, but of course needed the fae mages) her pledge to send twenty thousand Grey Mountain fighters south (the least she could fucking do) while fortifying a strong hold in the north by warding the perimeters against portal activity. 

If only the same could be applied to the rest of the Continent. Warding was tricky though, even over a relatively small region as the Grey Mountains. It took time, time no one had if Vulc were beginning to invade in three other areas. 

The fluff no doubt penned by an advisor followed at the end, Geralt turning his attentions to discreetly stroking the area on Arelle’s back that he knew full well made her shiver with desire after gleaning everything of use information wise from the queen’s speech. 

“Stop amusing yourself.” She warned in whisper, continuing to listen. She learned that a first wave would be sent immediately, followed by a second in just over a month. These waves were decided by age, Arelle falling into the category of fighters who would leave six weeks from then. At least she had a little normalcy left before her life was turned upside down. 

“Will you leave when I do, in a month?” she asked after they’d left the meeting.

“Most likely.” He confirmed. He seemed to drop into deep thought at that point, Arelle knowing he was prone to bouts of such and thinking absolutely nothing of it. She remained her usual calm, strong self at his side, not disturbing him unless it was really necessary. 

If she was honest, some quiet reflection of what she’d learned was exactly what she needed too. To be told she was about to go to war was a daunting piece of information to digest, especially when she’d never fought in a battle before. 

The scary future was something she found herself discussing with Daida later that night, back at the inn they’d stayed at the previous night. 

“She knows it’s her fault, but still she had to be pushed by her advisors into admitting her guilt. They told her it would make for eased public relations in the face of impending war. Actually, there’s nothing impending about it. It’s here, it’s now. We’re at war. It’ll be our first battle, my friend,” Daida told her, sipping her wine. She had a confidence about her ability to cope that Arelle hadn’t managed to grasp yet. Truly, she was terrified. 

“A prospect I’m not relishing in the slightest. Yes I want to defend my home, but after being told about the Vulc I am terrified of having to face them in open combat,” she confessed, Daida nodding sympathetically. 

“Who told you, your man friend?” Arelle nodded. “So tell me about you both, have you been with one another for long?” she then questioned with a smile. 

“I met him around three months ago. Originally he was just staying with me until the thaw, but it’s turned into something different. I think we’re still in a transition period, but it’s lovely. He’s strong, quiet and unfussy, exactly my type of man,” she confided, Daida smiling excitedly. 

“I’m very happy for you! He seems a little stand offish, but if he makes you happy then all is good. So, just between us girls…how does he measure up?” Arelle nearly choked on her beer, being asked that. Ahhhh, Daida might have looked so prim and proper, but underneath she was scandalous.

“You see that chair leg over yonder?” Arelle began, nodding in the direction of the chair held up by that particular long, thick piece of wood. Her friend couldn’t answer for the fit of giggles she burst into to begin with, clapping with mirth as she rested her head on her shoulder. 

“Oh my goodness! No wonder you’ve been walking bow legged recently.” At this point it was Arelle’s turn to laugh hysterically, nodding in agreement.

“It’s true, it’s absolutely true, Daida,” she began, taking another sip of her beer. “I’ve never been with any other man like him though. The effect he has upon me is so potently profound. One look and I feel aroused. Just one look and you could drown a small woodland animal in my undergarments!” This piece of information really made Daida howl laughing, hugging her friend and kissing her head.

“I miss this, being young and silly with someone, I honestly do. We have to be so proper all of the time within the palace, and we aren’t allowed gentleman callers either. He isn’t my type at all, but when you go to bed with that man tonight, fuck him a bit for me too.” Their hysterical laughter continued as they enjoyed each other’s company again after so long, having a wonderful evening until the blare of warning horns being blown outside cut through the cheery atmosphere. 

“Here, let’s go.” A suddenly present Geralt told her, handing over her bow and quiver before drinking from a small vial and then heading out the door. This was the nature of life now, she supposed. Laughter one minute and running to defend yourself and your homeland the next. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is continuing to enjoy! I'm leaving you two chapters for today's update, just to say thank you for your continued readership. I look forward to your thoughts, as ever.

The noise. It was absolutely terrifying, a roar the likes of which didn’t sound of this earth as a swarm of Vulc charged through the streets, Arelle springing up onto the roof of the inn and taking aim. She hit one straight between the eyes, taking down another two as she jumped to the opposite rooftop, seeing Geralt literally gut an incoming one down in the street.

It was chaos all around, unarmed people screaming in terror as they ran for cover while arrows flew through the air. Daida did what she did best, also choosing a high vantage point and sending out bolts of her magic, the creatures falling where they were hit and screeching in pain before their bodies went limp.

Jumping down she quickly yanked a few arrows from the heads of Vulc she’d killed, only just about managing to spring back up before she was caught by another, kicking it in the head on her way up before suddenly, to her horror, it grabbed her foot and threw her to the ground.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed before the huge presence of Geralt striking it across the back with his sword felled it, quickly pulling her up before turning to assail two more.

“You can’t fucking collect your arrows again, Arelle! If you run out, sword fight or get out of the fucking way. I can’t have one eye on you.” He shouted at her, turning to assail another Vulc while she unsheathed her own sword, leaping into the air and cutting one down. She managed to find her stride but then fumbled again, jumping off one she’d just cut and spinning around to aim for another and missing.

This time it was her brother to save her, grabbing her arm and jumping up to a nearby roof. “Stay up here.” He instructed her firmly, heading back down and picking up her sword to wield it along with his own. Arelle realised at that moment just how useless with a sword she actually was, feeling deflated as she watched her man and her kin cut down the great beasts impressively.

Remembering she had two arrows left, she pulled them out and shot at the beasts, kicking snow up on the roof angrily when she hit one but missed the other. She never missed. Her ineptitude with her sword had knocked her abilities though, feeling a little unconfident as she stood up there, not being able to assist.

Once over, she jumped down and sheepishly approached Geralt, who was further up the street with Davrin and a few others.

“I think someone could do with some sword fighting lessons,” he commented, Arelle shrugging. She was so embarrassed. She looked at the floor, scraping her boot over a patch of bloodied snow.

“Inexperience bests everyone at some point, but you shall learn and thus become better,” he then continued, Arelle still on mute. “I have no time for this petulance.” He then snapped, walking away when she immaturely refused to acknowledge him. The twenty year age difference between them had never been as clear as it was right then.

“He’s only trying to help you. You know, because the man obviously cares enough about you to not want you to die.” Davrin then followed with sarcastically, giving her a shove and wrapping his arm around her as they dodged the dead bodies, heading back to the inn. She knew it was humble pie time.

“I apologise, for being as you said I was. It was childish of me,” Arelle said as soon as she was back in the inn, up in the bedroom she and Geralt were staying in.

“You’re right, it was,” he told her simply as he removed his armour.

“I was just embarrassed at needing to have my arse saved twice,” she then confided, Geralt sitting down on the bed and running a hand through his hair.

“Which is why I’ll turn you into the kind of fighter who won’t need such assistance,” he assured her, smiling thinly. She could tell he was still angry at her. Time to diffuse the situation.

“Your black eyes…” she began.

“I forgot, you’ve never seen me like this before. I probably look monstrous to you right now,” he told her, Arelle shaking her head.

“Oh no, on the contrary. I think it’s quite sexy,” she commented, Geralt raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Then I think you should come here and show me exactly how sexy you think they are,” he told her, removing his top and welcoming her onto his lap as she sat astride him.

“Well if there’s one thing I can get right tonight,” she murmured, moving his hair and running her tongue up the side of his thick neck.

“The rest will follow.” He said before kissing her hungrily. Post-battle sex was always the best kind, when the adrenaline was still flowing. He might have been an extremely stoic man, but at the same time he wasn’t made of stone and he didn’t want her to feel badly about herself either. In this equation though, there’d be no room for that since she was the most exciting lover he’d ever been with.

Reaching up, she untied her hair as he lifted her tunic and sucked at her nipples in turn, her waves cascading down her back. Taking his face in her hands she kissed him, stopping to stare into his blackened eyes.

They really shouldn’t have been sexy, but Arelle had always been attracted to eyes which were a different colour to normal. The fact his eyes were amber from the mutations he’d gone through had been one of the things to first attract her to him, for example.

They deftly removed each other’s clothes, Arelle absolutely soaking wet for him without even being touched. She positioned the tip of his hardness as her entrance, teasing him a little first by rubbing it across her wet folds before sliding down on him facilely, exclaiming at the feeling of him fill her.

“At least there’s one giant beast I have effective control over,” Arelle panted, rocking against him rhythmically. She then found herself turned over and pinned to the bed by her throat quicker than she could comprehend. It sometimes took her by surprise, just how quickly he could move.

“Only when he lets you.” He told her a little balefully, leaning down and nuzzling her neck as his cock plunged back into her heat. Her arousal always soared when he dominated her, so she happily let him pin her there, black eyes staring down into hers as he entered her with hard, deep thrusts.

Her breath hitched as he lifted her legs, pushing them back to touch her chest and enabling for the kind of deeper penetration that had her wailing in bliss, his black eyes slowly starting to return to their usual amber colour as he looked down at her intently.

“Yes, fuck me!” she cried out, having him begin to plunge into her at a ferocious pace. It was the kind of burningly passionate sex that had them both at their cumulative finish sooner rather than later, both lying there in the aftermath a sweaty, exhausted entanglement of limbs as they fought to breathe.

“Caught you again,” she commented later, braiding her mountain of hair as Geralt lay beside where she sat up, fingers idly tracing a pattern over her ankle as he stared at the ceiling.

“Pardon?” He replied, roused from his thoughts.

“I’ve caught you deep in thought,” she began, finishing her braid and reaching for the cup of water on the table beside the bed. “You’ve been doing this all day.”

“Do you think the queen seemed entirely too calm for a monarch at war with a force as destructive as Mardryk and his army? It’s just one of the things I’ve been pondering since the meeting,” he put to her, his eyes moving from their fixed point as he turned slightly to look at her.

“Kesrin has always been very laid back, publicly at least she has little emotional depth. I should imagine she wanted to exude calmness too though, for the sake of her people. Why, is there something more you’re reading into it?” she replied, reaching to tickle his forearm in the way she knew he found soothing. The frown creasing his forehead told her he was in need of such.

“I’m unsure. There was something about her demeanour that lacked sincerity, yet I struggle to attain why such would be. The only thing I really keep landing on is that regardless of her statement to the contrary, she’s arrogant and adamant that none of this is because of her previous actions.” She agreed that this was likely exactly what he was picking up on, blowing out the candles before she turned and snuggled into him. After that evening and all it entailed, they both needed a good night’s sleep.

They both slept deeply and soundly, curled around each other for the duration of the quiet night. It was restfulness that continued into the morning, both lying there stroking each other’s nakedness until cold and hunger drove them into their clothes and downstairs to eat.

The casual pace of the morning sadly didn’t last, their area of Rhinegaff coming under attack again mid-morning from another band of Vulc. This time though, Arelle fared better for listening to Geralt’s advice the previous evening. Once out of arrows she stayed on the roof, not taking any silly chances and only jumping down to bury her sword in the heads of ones she knew she could take down for definite.

Still though, she wasn’t perfect. She fell a couple of times but luckily sprang up on her own and got out of there quickly, adjusting to the faster pace of the fight than she was used to against trolls. She would need to practice landing and taking off again in order to do such faster.

Geralt noticed that she’d done better though and was just about to approach and tell her that when he saw another sprite walk over to her and do the same thing.

“Well you were marginally less useless than you were last night, big bum!” a tall (for a sprite) man with long, black dreadlocks said as he approached Arelle, reaching out and smacking her bum.

“Axrin, hi! I didn’t even notice you were among us last night, how have you been?” she asked, giving him a hug. Any answer he might have given was delayed by the fact that suddenly, there was a massive, pissed off witcher looming over him dangerously.

“Don’t touch her like that. Ever.” Geralt warned him, leaning down to his level.

“Erm, sorry but who are you, big angry fella?” Axrin asked, laughing a little nervously.

“The more pertinent question here is who the fuck are you?” he demanded, making a noise similar to a growl.

“Geralt, calm down,” Arelle began, squeezing herself between them and reaching up to stroke his neck, hoping to placate the beast. Oh, he was furious. His body tense all over, eyes locked on Axrin. She really hadn’t expected this reaction from a gesture so playful. “This is Axrin, my ex.” She then offered, watching as he glowered more, not calming down even a smidgen. This was going to be a difficult one to diffuse.


	13. Chapter 13

“Axrin, seriously. You have about five seconds to apologise or you’re about to have bones broken. He’s…well he’s hostile,” Davrin hissed as he pulled his friend back, Arelle virtually wrapping herself around Geralt in a feeble attempt to get him to calm down. No such luck. 

“I haven’t done anything wrong! That’s the way I’ve always greeted her!” he began before turning to Geralt. “I meant no disrespect; you’re very obviously the current man in Arelle’s life and I accept that. You can’t tell me that’s not a slappable arse though, can you?” 

“Oh, seven goddesses. You need to stop. Humour doesn’t work well with him,” Davrin winced, Geralt advancing on them as Arelle skied through the snow, unable to hold onto him. 

“Daida! Help!” She called desperately, her friend there in seconds to touch two fingers to Geralt’s forehead, whispering a small incantation. Immediately, he ceased his livid surging at the baffled sprite.

“There, he’s dazed for now. Axrin, I’d really advise you not be your usual cocky self. Arelle’s chap here is the very definition of formidable,” she then added, turning and kissing his cheek in greeting. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to enrage him! I’m just…being myself.” He shrugged. Axrin was very verbally mischievous, something that he wasn’t used to having to dilute for anyone. Except maybe for now, when his personal safety was likely to be on the line if he didn’t cease. 

“We know, you don’t have to explain yourself. Just apologise to him once he comes round and he’ll be fine, also tone yourself down a little bit. He’s not that bad, you’ll see. He’s just an archetypal witcher,” Arelle explained.

“What, a cantankerous bastard?” Axrin laughed, Arelle slapping his arm and then pointing at him.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about! Enough,” she warned, just as Geralt began to come around from Daida’s spell, his rage firing into life again in an instant. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry I slapped Arelle on the bum, a place I acknowledge to be very much your territory. Now, may I buy you an ale or beer? Really, I apologise,” Axrin told him, Geralt relaxing a little but not completely. 

“Hmm,” He grumbled. 

“Geralt, be nice,” Arelle told him, watching as he still continued to scowl at him dangerously. 

“Hmm.” 

“No, stop it. Enough. Look at me,” she then demanded, jumping off the floor to lock her legs around his waist and force him to look at her, thus breaking eye contact with Axrin. She was quite surprised by his reaction to something so harmless, if she was honest. She really hadn’t expected such a strong response from him. 

“Are you going to calm down now?” 

“Yes,” he finally said, after a long, weighty pause. She wasn’t convinced. 

“We’ll catch up with you all,” she told their group, her brother nodding before she landed back on the floor and took Geralt’s hand, leading him to a quiet spot on the street away from people who’d begun collected Vulc bodies and clearing the mess. 

“He’s treading a fine fucking line,” he grumbled, Arelle shaking her head.

“I think you’re overreacting a little bit, Geralt. He smacked my bum and you’re acting like he bent me over and tried to shag me in the middle of the street,” she stated with a shrug. “I think it’s just a culture thing. Sprites aren’t prudish or reserved like that. Honestly, he meant nothing bad by it. Get to know him a little, then hate him with the kind of fury you’re channelling in his direction currently.”

“If that’s going to be his standard greeting of you, I’d rather break his fingers than get to know the man,” he replied, still not calming down. 

“Is this not you being a little possessive? Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it such coming from Yennefer which ended your last relationship?” He frowned at this, Arelle stroking his face in an attempt to quell his temper. 

“It was, but I’m not being possessive. I don’t want another man to touch you like that, not now and not ever, now that we have what we do,” he confirmed, still frowning.

“Is this you telling me you seek a commitment?” she then asked, a little astonished. She hadn’t expected such to come this soon. 

“Hmm.” 

“Use words please, Geralt,” she teased, giggling when he looked furtherly grumpy.

“Yes.” 

“Well don’t look so happy about it!” she joked, continuing to giggle as his face finally softened, shutting his eyes and shaking his head slightly until finally, he smiled. “You should know I’m all yours anyway.” She added, her heart thudding faster with excitement when he smiled even wider.

“Yes, of course I know. Axrin needs to learn that though because if he does that again, he’ll be shitting his own teeth for the next week.” His anger over the incident still hadn’t diminished any, Arelle realising it was actually quite gallant of him really, not wanting any other man to put a hand on the person he cared about as much as he obviously did her. 

“Come on. Let’s go and get some ale in you.” Pulling him down to her level, she gave him a kiss before they headed over to the tavern, feeling him relax a little when he wrapped his arm around her. 

He still didn’t look happy as they sat down with the group, but to his credit Axrin was on his best behaviour from that point onward. In fact, he had some interesting information to share. 

“Like Arelle, many of you didn’t actually catch that I was around for last night’s battle. I only arrived back in Rhinegaff a few minutes before. I then left again to assist the culminate effort of my recent voyage to Beiklin Island,” he began, Geralt suddenly much more eager to listen than he had been.

“You visited Beiklin?” he asked in disbelief, Axrin shaking his head. 

“Well, no, we didn’t visit it. We got as close to it as we needed to though, in order to abduct one of Mardryk’s mages. We anchored the boat about a mile offshore and Florie swam the rest of the way under an invisibility spell. In his utter arrogance, he didn’t even ward the shores of the island, she walked straight on there and managed to take down a mage who had been resting, stunned him and brought him back to the boat,” he explained, Geralt frowning. 

“I don’t believe a wizard with the kind of power and intuition the likes of Mardryk would be so lax that he’d leave his territory unprotected. He’d foresee an attack on his shores in retaliation. The only reason you were able to take that mage is because he wanted you to,” he told him, draining his ale and pouring another from the large jug. “Did you ever stop to think about that before your gung-ho crusade?” 

“He’s blunter than a spoon, huh?” Axrin began, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable. What the witcher had stated was something he hadn’t for one second considered in what he had previously believed to have been a well-executed plan. 

“I don’t mean to speak dismissively of dear Florie, but she’s a young mage, she doesn’t have the experience that someone of my standing does. Would you allow me to check this mage over? I assume you have him adequately incapacitated, magic wise?” Daida began, Axrin nodding in confirmation of her question. 

“Good. It means I can check him for any linking charms about his person. If he has one about his person then it means Mardryk will literally have eyes and ears on these shores, something of intelligence rather than the big, spider things with pincers and the Vulc. Geralt is right, he could have wanted this to happen. Take me to where you have him,” she requested, standing up. 

“I’m coming too,” Geralt added.

“And me.” Arelle chimed, the four of them setting off in the direction Axrin lead them. 

“Look, I just wanted to say again that I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to cause any offense at all. She and I, we were never really all that serious, but I respect that what she has with you appears very much to be, much to my surprise,” he told Geralt, falling into step at his side after giving Arelle a ‘give me a minute with him’ look, to which she’d responded by trailing back and walking behind with Daida. 

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business, the seriousness of my relationship with her,” he told him, feeling prickled again. 

“Oh, it isn’t, big fella. I’m just commenting. You must be different to the rest, is all,” he replied jovially, swallowing his playful desire to respond with something humorously sarcastic. “I was with Arelle in a casual way for five years and let me tell you, she never looked at me the same way she looks at you.” Axrin dropped it when Geralt remained silent, figuring he wasn’t the chatty type and continuing the journey in silence. 

They walked for around a mile, right out into the forest that lead up to the entrance to the city until they reached a small cabin. A few of the raiding party Axrin had gone on the journey with guarded it, stepping aside to let the four of them enter. 

“Brought a more competent mage with you this time, Axrin,” the mage within stated, laughing darkly. 

“Well she can’t be that bad. Her binding spell has kept you within these four walls,” Daida told him, walking over to him immediately and holding her hands out, circling him as she checked for any charms. She sent out a soft pulse of her magic, meaning if it touched anything magical on or within his person it would radiate a palpable warmth back, alerting her to the presence of a charm. 

“Nothing,” she then told the others after turning away from the bound mage, who continued his dark laughter.

“Looking for a linking charm, girl? Yes, of course you were,” he told her, Daida ignoring him. 

“If there’s no linking charm then it can’t be a case of him being captured willingly,” she said, Geralt nodding slowly as he thought up and eliminated any other reason he could summon over why the mage had been so easy to abduct. Surely Mardryk wasn’t so incompetent, or did he just not want to be incorrect in his assessment of the situation? 

“Try not to overthink it too much, you big, white haired brute,” he then spoke to Geralt. “My master might have failed me, but ultimately his quest shan’t fail when he comes and takes back what is his, the rest of the Continent too. Looking for a link on me? How utterly futile when there’s already one here.” 

With that, he did what everyone least expected, holding a finger to his head and whispering the words the sprites recognised as a fae magic curse, one that specifically rendered instant death upon a person. 

Just because he’d been bound not to hurt anyone else, it seemed such hadn’t extended to him harming himself, such was the devotion to his master. 

“He’d rather have died than been kept a prisoner and tortured to give up information, which was my actual plan for him,” Axrin sighed, looking down at the crumpled body of the mage upon the floor. 

“I think the more pressing worry here is over what he did actually tell us. In a city of nearly ninety thousand people, how the fuck do we go about finding who the link is?” Arelle asked, shaking her head.

“If it’s even a person at all. He could have linked with anything; it could just as easily be an owl or a falcon.” Geralt then added, the others feeling more deflated for hearing his thoughts. He was right, and this made the prospect of finding the link about a million times more difficult. 


	14. Chapter 14

“It could even be a rat or a mouse. They can scuttle around completely fucking undetected, being the eyes and ears for Mardryk with nobody any the wiser. Hello, needle! Meet haystack.” Arelle said, finishing her beer and pouring out another as she sighed, kicking snow off the ground in front of her and exposing more grass for Roach. 

They were sitting in the garden area of the inn they were staying at, Davrin now present too as they sat outside, supervising Roach’s limited pasture time. The innkeeper sadly had no paddocks, but cleared the rear of the inn daily so people could access their horses and carriages. 

“We might as well admit it, folks. We’ll never find the link, even if there definitely is one. He could have been toying with us,” Axrin put forward, sighing and sinking a mouthful of whisky from his flask, offering it around. Daida took it gladly. 

“Very true, my friend. It could explain perfectly why the portals being opened are always so conveniently close to civilization too, never out in the sticks. Ahhh, it’s bloody useless. We shan’t find it. I vote we be utterly irresponsible and get drunk,” she said, taking another slug of whisky before handing the flask back to Axrin. 

“So that’ll be one more beer for Arelle then,” he teased, earning a pissed off face from his ex. “So, you’ve got no better at drinking?” 

“She’s fucking useless. With a lack of anything better to do we got drunk one night a few weeks ago, which was a bottle of mead for me and four small measures for Arelle, who I later found lying in the chicken coop, singing a song about buttercups,” Geralt revealed, laughing quietly when she kicked him under the table, her friends in hysterics. 

“You all do as you please. I’m remaining alert though, I don’t trust that there won’t be another swarm of beasts to deal with before nightfall is upon us.” He then added. The others followed suit, no matter how tempting Daida’s idea was. 

Able fighters and an excellent mage were needed, Daida having to return to the palace anyway that evening. That wasn’t before she’d assisted in what turned out to be more or less a full day of fighting. It was a good job no one took the getting drunk idea seriously. 

Wave upon wave of Vulc came at them, also bringing the lesser recently seen spider-like creatures too, the first Arelle had witnessed. She found them an easier target, not quite as fast moving as Vulc were. That didn’t mean the battle against them was any easier on a whole though, for it absolutely wasn’t.

Several sprites she fought with sadly perished, the force they faced having the upper hand for a good time before they managed to cut them back, more fighters joining them, even young children firing arrows from their windows into the streets where the fight was fought. 

It was this kind of effort that made Arelle feel extra ridiculous when after she was almost taken down, freeing herself with the help of a fellow fighter and jumping onto a nearby roof, her nerve was suddenly gone. She still had arrows left, but she was paralysed, frozen to the spot. ‘Move, fucking move!’ She thought, willing her arms to put firing an arrow into motion, yet she was stuck. 

It had suddenly hit her, how woefully unprepared she was for this. Once she was south too, it was likely to be a hell of a lot worse. This was small scale compared to the likes of a full-blown war and it had her terrified. Managing to shake herself from her daze, she continued, her heart hammering in her chest as she began to fire off arrows once more, finding her confidence again until the job was done. 

“You paused,” Geralt observed, looking worse for wear as she jumped down from the roof. He was holding his thigh, Arelle moving his hand to reveal a nasty looking gash. “Leather is no match for Vulc claws.” He lamented.

“I’ll stitch you up. And yes, I paused,” she confirmed, looking at his face. He was scratched there too, blood oozing from a deeper cut across his cheek. 

“Care to elaborate?” She told him she would when they were alone and with that, they turned and headed back to the inn, Geralt limping noticeably. He made a poultice to apply to his wounds before he was stitched, meaning they’d be clean and not become infected. It also assisted with the pain he was in, Arelle helping him attentively. 

“Ouch, that’s nastier than I thought it was,” she said as she viewed it, folding his bloodied trousers over as he sat down on the bed, applying the poultice. He winced, applying pressure to also stop the bleeding, Arelle covering the rest of his legs with the bed covers as she sat cross legged next to him.

“Never mind me, I’ll be fine. Why did you lose your nerve? I know that’s about the only reason it could be, why you suddenly stopped fighting,” he put to her, Arelle feeling uncomfortable. If there was anyone she could open up to about this though, it was her man. 

“I was frightened,” she began, sighing and dropping her head with embarrassment. “I’ve never been scared of anything before. I’ve always dealt with trolls well, faced them bravely just like my mother taught me to. I feel so out of my depth with this, like I’m not competent enough to be able to fight them to the standard I need to.”

“I think that first fight where Davrin and I had to come to your aid has knocked you more than you bargained for,” he spoke, Arelle looking exasperated suddenly.

“See, Davrin has never known monsters the likes of these, nor has he fought a war but he manages just fine! Why do I have to be the one to lose my fucking mettle in a time where I need it most?” she shouted, becoming frustrated with herself. 

“Because no two people are the same. You’re very tough and capable, Arelle. You just need to remember that and for whatever else you lack, I shall teach you before we leave,” he reassured her, reaching up and stroking her cheek. 

“Thank you.” She told him earnestly, leaning down to kiss him. As it happened, that teaching would commence sooner than either thought. 

The wound in his leg proved to be too bothersome for him to continue fighting up there (the stitches kept popping for one) so it was decided he and Arelle would leave the fight in the far north and head back to the forest, where he could recuperate and be fit for the southern battles and Arelle could be trained to be a little more competent for the same. 

“It looks strange out here, with just her,” Geralt commented after they’d arrived back and he’d put Roach into her stable. 

“It does, but that won’t matter come six weeks from now. No one will be here then,” she replied as they walked back to the cottage.

“Shall you miss it?” he then inquired. 

“It’ll be the first time I’ll have been away from home. Of course I shall.” Leaning into his embrace she felt his powerful arm wrap around her, thinking herself lucky that at least she wasn’t going to be leaving alone. What was to come, she would face with this new and very welcome presence in her life. When she thought of it like that, it didn’t seem so daunting. 

As soon as his thigh wound was beginning to heal, Geralt had her outside in the thawing snow (which was gladly not coming down nearly as heavily as it had been) ready to learn a little sword craft, since this was the area she lacked in.

“You need to get used to a heavier sword and actually learn how to wield it. Stabbing a troll through the brain is one thing, they’re sluggish and docile. Vulc are speedy for their size and powerful as you saw. 

“You have to be able to wield a sword competently, because I can’t be the one to ensure your safety. In war, you have to look out for yourself and no one else.” He had to be graphic, now was the time he needed to prepare her for what she’d face. Handing his sword to her he watched as she took it, trying to lift it but having the weight pull her arms down.

“For fucks sake! I can’t even lift the bloody thing!” she exclaimed, trying again. It just clanged off the floor. “Geralt, look. It comes up to my tits! It’s literally nearly as long as I am!” She then shouted with widened eyes, holding it upright to show him. He couldn’t help but laugh at her anguish, momentarily disappearing into the wood store before returning with a gift.

“Then it’s a good job I had a sprite sized one made for you while we were in Rhinegaff. It’s still heavy and longer than your current one, but it’s exactly what you’ll need for battle,” he told her, Arelle looking surprised and thrilled in equal amounts as she unsheathed her new sword. It was heavy, he was right. Not as heavy as his though, thankfully. 

“Geralt, its elven silver!” she exclaimed, looking at the details engraved onto the blade. Elven silver was the finest, strongest metal to have a sword made from. It also cost a small fortune. “It’s so beautiful, thank you so much!” 

“I’m pleased you like it. Now, to teach you how to wield it well.” He allowed her to lavish some affection on him in the way of gratitude before her lessons began, showing her not just how to move the sword, but how to move her own body with it. If she swung her own bodyweight behind each blow, the more force it would ultimately deliver. 

She was taught this and much, much more, staying outside until the darkness crept in and she was exhausted and sore. She didn’t feel much more confident, but hadn’t expected to either. What she did feel though was confident that eventually, she would. 

Taking a bath later that night, she surveyed her bruised legs from bashing them with her new sword, Geralt sitting to the side of the tub, hand stretched back into the water, stroking her stomach as he read one of her books. 

“Give it a week or so and you’ll be used to it, trust me. I was much younger and smaller than you when I was expected to wield the sword I now carry,” he told her, looking at her legs.

“What was it like, the Trial of the Grasses?” She asked, feeling his hand pause in its stroking momentarily.

“Horrific, but entirely necessary. It wasn’t during that particular process when I learned to sword fight though, that came later. There was also the lesser mentioned Trial of the Dreams and Trial of the Mountains also.” He replied, before explaining in a little more detail exactly what he’d gone through in order to become what he was. 

After hearing what he had suffered – and suffer was an understatement – Arelle felt a little ridiculous to have complained about bruised legs. It did give her the motivation to push forward and attack her training with every ounce of might she had within her, outside with Geralt from sunrise to sunset every day. 

He was determined to turn her into a warrior, strong, stealthy and solid. She was entirely capable and it was that, his unshakable faith in her which got Arelle through being constantly exhausted because of it. Ultimately, it would all be worth it.


	15. Chapter 15

“I didn’t expect more of this,” Geralt spoke, standing at the window drinking tea one evening, roughly three weeks and a few days before they were due to leave. Arelle came to his side, wrapping her arms around his waist as she watched the flurry of snow falling from the sky.

“It isn’t anywhere near as bad as it has been. In fact it’s getting milder much quicker than usual. She’ll be happy, won’t she? She hates being cooped up,” she replied, pointing out to Roach’s stable.

“On the contrary, I think she’s getting used to being spoiled,” he began, smiling as he thought of his mare. “It’ll do her good to get her out on the road again though, she’s getting plump. Will you bother with a horse for the journey?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Yes I can move much quicker without one, but it also takes great amounts of energy and we have hundreds of miles to cover, don’t we?” she replied, feeling his hand begin to stroke her forearm.

“We do, yes. I know of some good horse markets along the way though, so you can decide when we’re passing through.” Putting his mug down he then began to stroke the apple of her cheek with his thumb, kissing her hair as he held her tightly and made her feel even tinier than she already was.

Although he hadn’t said it in actual words, she felt loved by the huge, white haired man holding her to him. It was lovely, beyond anything she’d ever known. The weight of his affection for her really had taken her by surprise, much like it had over hers towards him too.

She could no longer imagine what a life without Geralt in it would look like. Of course, being true to herself she wasn’t about to stop him from being who he was in order to be with her all of the time, absolutely not. If they both made it through the war then she knew he would return to his work. Such meant he would travel and be away from her. She was utterly fine with this.

Just because she adored him didn’t mean she needed to be stuck to his side. In fact, in the times when he took Roach out for some exercise, she relished in having her home all to herself again. She did love him being there though, of course she did.

Their romance was something she’d never expected to find herself in, but she welcomed it, waking up next to him every morning, seeing him look on at her proudly as she became much more competent and self-assured with a sword thanks to his teaching as well. There were other reasons too, a major one playing itself out later that afternoon as the snow continued to fall.

“I think you’ve gained a little more muscle over the last month,” he told her, removing her sweater and stroking her shoulders as he began to kiss her stomach, his hands then smoothing over the little ridges of her biceps that hadn’t been quite so pronounced before.

“Coming from someone whose arms are like tree trunks, that’s a very nice compliment,” she replied, kissing him again as she stroked those massive arms, moaning into his mouth as she pressed herself against him. Feeling his hard cock as it protruded the front of his trousers, she couldn’t help but grind against it as she kissed him, stopping momentarily to remove his shirt.

“Someone’s excited,” he noted, kissing her neck as his hands travelled in a sensuous glide up her back.

“Always for you.” She whispered, her huge, green eyes full of lust as she pushed him back on the bed, kissing his chest, her tongue circling each nipple and making him groan before she rendered him naked quickly.

He made an agreeable noise deep in his throat when she then turned around, backing herself up against his face and taking his behemoth cock in her hand, stroking it slowly and firmly while circling the head with her tongue, gasping when she felt his tongue roll against her clit.

Pleasuring him with her mouth was something which always made her arousal radiate strongly, loving the feeling of something so big and ever hardening in her mouth, also how he groaned so deeply in response as well. It had her core molten in seconds, her inner muscles stinging with want, screaming to be filled by what she so expertly swallowed every last inch of.

Geralt closed his eyes, whispering ‘fuck’ as he felt his cock disappear into her throat again, a shuddered breath leaving his mouth before he once again took a mouthful of her sweet cunt and sucked, smacking one of her beautifully pert bum cheeks hard and making her squeak.

He then slid his tongue within her sumptuous, silky heat, driving it into her hard as his hands bracketed her slender waist. The position afforded him the most enticing view of her spread wide for him, glistening with wetness he eagerly devoured as he licked every single last bit of hot, pink flesh.

Arelle cried out in bliss, every swirl of his tongue over her clit making her tremble, the tiny bud oversensitive and tingly already. She moaned around the hard, hot mass of cock in her mouth, fingernails trailing over his thighs and tickling his balls before she wrapped her hand around him, pumping his shaft as her mouth sucked the head of his erection.

It was this which was the catalyst to him moving quickly from beneath her and burying that hardness deeply inside her soaking pussy, dangerously aroused and completely incapable of holding onto the desire to feel her beautiful, warm tightness hugging him.

“Mmmm, I love how much you stretch and fill me. Does it look sexy, seeing my tight little cunt split around your gigantic cock?” she purred, making his arousal burn like wildfire.

“Stop it, you tiny temptress, or this will be over before it’s even begun.” He warned her. When she spoke like that, it excited him so dangerously it took everything he had not to cum in seconds. She drove him utterly out of his mind with lust.

Arelle giggled, turning around and puckering her lips in a kissing gesture at him, her eyes then closing as she cried out at his cock hitting her deeply. She folded at the waist, resting her upper body down on the bed while he held her hips, thrusting into her measuredly, enjoying the sensations of her inner walls twitching aggressively around his shaft.

She ignited him completely, this beautiful little sprite he was becoming so very fond of, no more profoundly than when he was inside her. It wasn’t just sexual to him any longer, it was the need to be close to her, utterly besotted with her as he was. It scared him sometimes, just how deep his feelings for her were, but he’d always put it to the back of his mind and concentrate on enjoying her instead.

Enjoy her he did, for the rest of the evening until they were exhausted and extremely satisfied, curled around each other in bed as they lay talking.

“I wish we could just stay like this and not have a war to go and fight in. Everything will be so different, I’m unsure if I’m ready for it to be either,” she confided, resting her head on his chest as he idly played with her hair.

“It would be nice, yes. Sadly though, neither of us has a choice. We’re both duty bound to defend. You’re ready, probably more so than you think. It’s about time you travelled somewhere beyond the Grey Mountains too,” he said, Arelle turning over to look down at him as she stroked his chest.

“I wish it were you and I going on some kind of exciting adventure, my first journey away from home,” she lamented, smiling a little when she imagined what other exciting things they could have been doing.

“It is an exciting adventure we’re going on, just a bit of a perilous one too.” He told her, Arelle laughing a little through her nose at the casual delivery of his comment. He truly had no fear over what was to come. She hoped to feed off his strength a little, since it seemed he had enough for the two of them.

She’d been strong throughout her whole life, being a very self-sufficient and independent spirit. War was vastly different from anything she’d faced thus far though. They fell asleep soon after, all warm and content, enjoying what little time of normalcy they had left.

Arelle felt cold when she awoke the following morning, shuffling over and reaching for Geralt’s warmth. Only an empty space greeted her though, meaning he’d rose first and gone out to tend to Roach. She washed and dressed, putting the kettle over the fire to make them some tea before heading outside to find him. He wasn’t there though and neither was Roach.

Thinking he must’ve headed off to take her for a walk now the snow was passable she turned and went back inside, her thoughts then being met with the conflicting view she only noticed with wide awake eyes. Every trace of him was gone. All his belongings, his saddle bags, clothes and swords. Nothing was left.

She felt her heartbeat escalate in panic, running from the cottage again and following Roach’s hoof prints, not wanting what she feared to be true. Of course though, it was. The mare’s hoof prints dotted over the snow led to the very edge of the forest and out, meaning there was only one conclusion. Geralt had succumbed to his penchant of leaving women without explanation, this time leaving her.

Arelle refused to believe he would do that to her at first, bouncing back through the trees to her home and searching frantically for a note, for anything. He’d at least left a rose for Yennefer when he’d absconded from her life in the same way.

Sadly though, nothing was left for her, no little token; no final memento of their time together. He was just gone, leaving her to flop down into her armchair as tears streamed down her cheeks. How could he do it? Why had he done it? These were the two most pertinent questions that came to mind as she curled up and cried, absolutely heartbroken.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanking you for your reads and reviews. Last chapter before the weekend break. Enjoy x

“Come on, get up. You’ve had a day to let heartbreak engulf you. You have to move now.” Arelle spoke to herself, trying to sum up the will to leave the bed she’d literally crawled across the floor to with a bottle of mead the previous morning, after finding her lover gone without a trace.

It felt like she’d swallowed something sharp and it was cutting her from the inside, a deep, physical pain that didn’t cease, compounded with the utter bewilderment and disbelief that he’d just upped and left like that. How could he?

She’d asked herself that question a thousand times, wondering why, replaying conversations in her head as she desperately searched for any clues over what would have been his impending departure. There were none though. This made it an even bitterer truth to swallow.

It had to be something to do with her though. What else could it possibly be? She’d believed he loved her from the weight of his affections toward her, but perhaps that hadn’t been the case at all. Perhaps she’d read it completely wrong, but how could she have? How could he not have loved her when his actions told her so clearly that he had?

Arelle had always considered him to be a man more of actions rather than words where that was concerned, but now she was second guessing everything, their entire time together. She hated it, absolutely loathed that she’d been reduced to this. It couldn’t be helped though. Geralt had truly broken her heart.

She cursed herself for allowing him into her life. Really, she truly should have known better. Losing loved ones was why she preferred her own company and not to get too attached to people. What had she done? The exact opposite of her usual resolve.

The smell of him on her bed was utter torture, but she still laid in the space his body had occupied, crying again as she wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, trying to fool herself by imagining it was him holding her. The pain she felt at being without him was too much.

This couldn’t be her way forward though, to curl up and cry. No. She was stronger than that and with or without Geralt, she still had a war to fight in. If she came through it okay and her heart still hurt because of him afterwards, then she could cry some more about him then. Not now though. Now was the time to move forward, broken hearted or not. She couldn’t entertain it further. She had training to continue.

What Geralt had taught her had made her more competent, able to wield the heavier sword and move her body in the exact what she needed to in order to deliver a fatal blow and move onto the next opponent at speed. In warfare, this is exactly what she had to do; kill, repeat. Kill, repeat. Kill, repeat. No pausing. No fear. Just attack.

For the days that followed, all she did was push herself. She gave herself challenges in order to be better, faster and stronger. She ran to the falls not far from her home and practised bouncing from jagged rock to jagged rock, knowing if she slipped she could seriously injure herself. It was the best test of precision.

She landed in the water a few times and suffered some minor scrapes, but then went home again and re-fuelled before continuing her sword skills. When it grew dark, she ran. She ran until her lungs burned, around and around the forest in the darkness to improve her stamina.

She swung from tree branches and did pull ups and push ups to test her strength, focusing on becoming a hardened fighter and nothing else. Yet every time she collapsed in her exhausted bed at the end of it all, she pined for Geralt.

A week passed and by that point she thought she’d be feeling better, used to her own company again, but alas she was far from it. She trained hard, only sleeping for short periods before she was back out there. She’d never felt particularly lonely, but after her lover had vanished, she missed having someone there to talk to.

It was the first time she’d been heartbroken and she didn’t care for it either. It didn’t sit well with her to be fine and then suddenly remember herself being in a certain situation with him there. She remembered his insufferable habit of stealing vegetables when she was making dinner, crunching through a mouthful of raw carrot while shrugging nonchalantly at her, or when he’d get into the bath behind her and rub her shoulders, but mostly it was in bed where she missed him.

Of course, sex played a big part in it, but then there was the intimacy. The real intimacy of being held by him, having his warmth there next to her, the hours they’d spend talking too. She missed him immeasurably, but on she strove without him. He was gone and that was that.

About a week before she was due to leave though, a knock at her door made her heart go into overdrive, immediately wondering if he’d returned, if it wasn’t so that he’d just vanished. It wasn’t him, she discovered upon opening the door, but a sight that was even more welcome.

“Papa! Hello,” she greeted her father with happily, the tall, handsome sprite stepping inside and hugging his daughter.

“Hello, my precious one. Do I find you well this afternoon? I find you sweaty, I feel,” he told her, making her giggle when he pulled a face and wiped his clammy hand on her tunic.

“Yes, I’m well. Tired and aching, but well. I’ve been training myself for what’s likely to come,” she explained, before gesturing to the kettle over the fire. “Tea?”

“Please, yes,” he began, seating himself in her armchair after sweeping his long mane of hair over his shoulder so he didn’t sit on it. “Battle training, then. A very wise choice for what is to come. I wish to the seven goddesses it didn’t have to come to this though.” He then added gravely, sighing.

She knew he wouldn’t take it well, the news that his two remaining children were departing to fight in the south. He would be staying north, defending the Grey Mountains and keeping an eye on Clauda, who had recently discovered was carrying she and Davrin’s first child.

“I wish the same, papa. I feel trepidation over what is to come, but at least I think I’m better prepared than I was. Being trained to fight properly with a sword has stood me in good stead,” she replied, pouring the tea.

“Who taught you? Was it this witcher fella I’ve been told about?” he inquired, Arelle feeling her heart skip a beat sadly as Geralt’s face flashed through her mind’s eye.

“Yes, it was,” she confirmed quietly.

“And where is he now, this new man in your life? I’d like to meet him. Davrin says he seems to make you very happy.” She swallowed hard while putting the kettle back, not wanting to burst into tears as she remembered just how happy he had made her.

“I don’t know where he is now. He’s no longer the man in my life,” she replied, sitting down.

“Oh, oh I am sorry to hear that. I quite liked the idea of you having…something with someone. Did you not take to the idea or something?” he then asked. No. The problem was she took to it entirely too well. It had only been hard for a brief time, when she was trying to deny that she was falling in love with Geralt. “Arelle? Oh, darling. Come here.”

Hearing her father’s soft tones as she tried to stop her tears only made more come, waving her hand in an indication she’d be fine. She wasn’t though, standing and sinking into his embrace. “I’m sorry, my sweetheart. If you want to tell me what happened then you can, but I know how private you are. If you don’t then this is fine too.”

“Let’s just say I didn’t want it to come to an end and he obviously did. That’s all anyone needs to know, or rather all I want anyone to know. I don’t want to discuss it,” she sniffed, taking a deep breath to compose herself as she sat down again.

“Maybe if I’d been a little more present a father, you perhaps would. I apologise, Arelle,” he then told her candidly, taking a seat again as he picked up his tea mug.

“No, it isn’t you. I know why I don’t see you often and I’ve never resented you for that. You and mama, you were so in love. I know it’s painful for you since I look so much like her,” she reassured him, pulling on the knitted blanket she’d hung on the back of the chair and wrapping herself up in it.

“I’ve been a lousy father, only seeing you what, every few weeks? I let myself become pulled down by my own grief, is what I did, Arelle. It wasn’t right and this I must get off my chest. Regardless of how I felt about your mother, I should have never abandoned you. I did too, letting you move out here when you were just eighteen, still a child. I’m sorry I haven’t been there.”

She realised at this point that it had nothing to do with whether she told him about Geralt or not, this was her father looking for a chance to confess his wrong while he still could, just in case she didn’t return to him. She let him have the moment, told him she accepted his apology and that she loved him regardless.

When she was younger, she had felt rejected by him, but Davrin had always loved her enough to make up for it. Since she’d grown though, the less she felt hurt by his treatment of her. He’d been heartbroken, it wasn’t his fault. It was taking this and his apology into consideration that she suddenly felt a lot better about her own situation.

It could have been worse. She could have been with Geralt for a long time before he left her without word, which would have undoubtedly hurt more. Or she could have lost him like her father lost her mother. Either way, it didn’t really matter. He was gone and she had more important things to concentrate on.

Still though, come the night time she ended up asleep on his side of the bed again.


	17. Chapter 17

“I don’t think I like the idea of you doing this, Arelle. Of course, I take no issue with you wanting to use your mother’s lance, but deliberately antagonising a pack of trolls? There could be up to twenty in that particular den,” Arelle’s father spoke as they approached the caves at the foot of the Grey Mountains.

These caves had always been off limits since within they housed troll dens. If you provoked them, they would come after you too, which was exactly Arelle’s aim. She had to learn to take out multiple assailants at speed and even though trolls were both slower in movement and wit than the Vulc, it was a good place to start before she left in three days’ time. 

“I’ll be fine, I’ve done this before. If I’m not, I have you here. I didn’t just develop my archery skills by myself.” She told him with a wink before going ahead alone. Of course, he’d been the one to teach her when she was a child. 

The lance in her hands felt like an old friend, although it had been years since she’d wielded one. It was something she hadn’t forgotten though. This was double ended, her mother’s preferred weapon of choice. It was the only thing that had been recovered from the battlefield after her untimely demise. She considered it fitting that she would take it with her, a part of her mother there close to her as she fought. 

“Oh, smelled me, did you, ugly?” She began as a large, male troll exited the cave, looking at her and growling. “Come on, then! What, would you like an invitation?” She then continued.

“Arelle, don’t be cocky.” Her father warned from further down. Keeping her superciliousness in check, she began to walk backwards in order to lure him out, another three following on behind. 

She then sprang forward, jumping onto one and goring him straight through the head with the lance, finishing off the second like that before unsheathing her sword to take care of the third. For the fourth she jumped onto the top of the cave and fired a slew of arrows at before springing back again and bringing the lance straight down on her head. 

“That was the quickest I’ve ever taken down four, papa!” she shouted excitedly, bouncing up and down before turning to the cave directly above, the occupants roused by her presence. She dealt with seven from that cave, another ten from the one below and three from one further up before calling time and leaving at speed. 

They both jumped straight into the river to end their scent trail, so any other trolls wouldn’t follow them before hopping through the trees and back to Arelle’s father’s home. She changed into the clothes she’d brought with her and hung the others up to dry by the fire, her father slicing them some bread to eat with the fish he’d caught fresh that morning. 

It was nice for Indris, to have his daughter around. It was bittersweet for him though, the prospect of losing her to the same war that had robbed Arlaya, his beautiful wife, Kaylii and Rosah, his daughters, as well as Kilph, his eldest son prompting him to be a better father and spend more precious time with her while he could. 

He was confident she’d return to him, but then again he had been confident his family would all make it out alive during the last war against Mardryk. He had to hold hope that Arelle and Davrin would come back, that he could truly then make amends for secluding himself so much. It wasn’t just Arelle he didn’t see often. Davrin only saw the reclusive sprite more since their homes happened to be a short distance apart. 

His son and daughter in law arrived later that afternoon, after he and Arelle had eaten breakfast and discussed battle strategies and fighting techniques. It took him a lot of persuading to convince her she was as good as she was going to get and take a day off from the gruelling regime she’d fallen into, but with a little compromise and agreeing to visit the caves with her at sunrise, she’d finally agreed to a family day.

“Papa told me about…him. And not to mention it, but I just wanted to say I’m sorry and leave it there,” Davrin said to her, kissing her head as he greeted her before Star, their father’s gigantic black wolf jumped up to greet him. “Hello, beautiful girl. Hello.” He then continued, rubbing the wolf’s ears and scratching the one white patch on her neck, her namesake for it had resembled a lone star in a dark sky. 

“Thank you.” She replied quietly, sighing a little. She was doing much better at that point, although of course her heart still hurt. It wasn’t quite as tender as it had been, the sore spot within that his departure had left, that physical ache for her lover now dulled and diminished. Much to her dismay, she wasn’t over him entirely, as she hoped to be. 

“You know you have to give it time, don’t you? You cannot just expect to snap your fingers and feel differently. It isn’t magic,” Clauda explained as they walked by the side of the river a little later, leaving Davrin and her father back at the cabin. 

“I know, I understand this. I just wish I could, snap my fingers and feel differently, that is. I wish I’d never have met him; wish I’d have taken a different path on the night that I was out hunting so I wouldn’t have run into him. It would have saved me a lot of pain,” Arelle sighed, Clauda reaching to tuck a few stray hairs behind her ear in a loving manner.

“That isn’t the way fate works though, is it?” she stated, Arelle frowning.

“So it was my fate to have my heart broken by an emotionally stunted man, one who didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me goodbye?” she questioned.

“Not all fates are welcome ones, sadly.” She was right, of course she was. Just because it was something she didn’t want to hear, it made Clauda’s words no less valid. 

He’d left a weak spot within her that she was hugely aware of though, her usual pragmatism a little dented for falling for him. Maybe he was a lesson she needed to learn? Surely this would only make her tougher. 

Arelle spent her remaining time in the Grey Mountains with her family between training and relaxing at home, the morning of her departure upon her before she knew it. She put some clothes, a blanket, some healing paste for scrapes and cuts, her knife sharpener and a few more little items into the small canvass backpack she had made and lastly, her mother’s spare chainmail vest her father had gifted her, all she intended to take with her.

Pulling it on and arming herself, she took one last look around her cottage before leaving, holding hope in her heart that one day she would return to her treasured little home. She walked the trail for a little while before starting to jump through the trees, soon in the company of a few other hundred sprites all doing the same thing as they moved south. 

“Our epic adventure begins then,” Davrin said as he leapt onto the branch above hers, Axrin landing close by too and waving. 

“It does, come whatever may,” she replied, continuing to the next tree.

“Victory, over the darkness!” Axrin shouted, sounding optimistic. Arelle would have liked to have been that outwardly confident, but she knew she’d need to get a few Vulc kills under her belt before she was on the same page as Axrin where being propitious was concerned. 

The sun was full in the sky, glinting the snow-capped trees as they came to the edge of the forest, beginning to descend the pathways that would lead them out of the Grey Mountains. Once they’d reached that point, Arelle stopped for a moment, turning back to look at them. This was the farthest from home she’d ever been. 

Smiling a little wistfully she then continued, determined not to turn back but having no choice but to when she heard someone frantically calling after her. 

“Arelle, wait!” Daida’s voice called shrilly, appearing from a portal and gaining on them quickly. “I don’t have much time, here,” she then continued, taking a black piece of leather cord with a green crystal attached to it.

“What’s this, and why don’t you have much time? Are you okay?” Arelle questioned, noting that her friend looked flustered.

“I’m not even supposed to be here. I’ll be in huge amounts of trouble if my absence from the palace is detected. The queen isn’t letting us leave and join the fight, despite there being ample power up in Rhinegaff right now. She wants her mages all around her. This right here will help me find you though, I’ll be able to portal right to your side when I can get away. May luck be with you, I’ll see you soon.” 

She tied the cord around Arelle’s wrist and kissed her cheek, turning to open a portal and rush through it, back to the capital. 

“Did she seem…?” Davrin began.

“Frightened. She was frightened. Something isn’t right back in Rhinegaff and she knows it, wants to get out as soon as she can. Her loyalty to Kesrin for the moment is preventing it though, or she’d have just come with us,” Arelle stated, pausing as she heavily considered turning back for a few moments, heading for Rhinegaff and rescuing her friend. 

“Come on, we have to press on. We have a lot of ground to cover. She has a link to you now, so she obviously intends to use it when she absolutely has to.” Axrin said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She nodded, taking one last look at the Grey Mountains before continuing, moving further and further away from the only life she’d ever known. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanking you all for your kudos and continued readership!

_“And she was the girl with the flowers in her hair, who danced naked in the moonlight without a worry nor a care…”_

“Fuck.” Geralt grumbled, hearing the familiar tones of a man he knew of old, but at that moment knew he couldn’t suffer the unfadingly chirpy attitude of. He wanted to be alone and sullen, not entertained by the vocal stylings of the bard who, in truth, was probably his only real friend.

He could hear him, but was yet to see him, until…

“Geralt! Would you believe me if I stated I’ve been looking for you?” Jaskier asked, his head popping up over a bank of snow across the other side of the wide road.

“Yes, unfortunately,” he replied, Jaskier approaching and reaching to pat Roach. “You know what my stance there is.” He then added, the bard recoiling his hand.

“Well, I thought maybe you might have dropped that, after all this time,” he mused, smiling up at him before falling into step by his side.

“Roach, bite,” Geralt then said, only half joking. “What the fuck is that hanging from your hip?” He then added, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, it’s a sword, Geralt!” Jaskier replied with mild sarcasm.

“I know what it fucking is, but why the fuck do you have it? It looks about as out of place as tits on an ant,” he scoffed.

“Oh, thanks a lot!” he began, affronted. “I have it because all able-bodied men throughout the Continent have been called to bear arms and fight. Even bards, like me. I came to find you because I don’t think the few weeks of training that I received from the knights who showed the basics to myself and a group of others was as good as I’d receive from you. Plus, I haven’t seen you in a long time, over a year now!”

At the mention of training someone in sword fighting, of course there was only one person who came to mind. He closed his eyes for a few moments, seeing her there in his mind’s eye, her beautiful face, her incredible eyes. His chest tightened, his heartbeat speeding up before the moment passed.

“So, lessons? I’d prefer not to fight at all, truth be told. I have no talent for it, but with the amount of Vulc swarming in, well like I said, every able-bodied man,” Jaskier then added, rousing him from the daze he’d slipped into.

“I’ll think about it. Now, silence.” He tried not to think about her often, although it wasn’t always possible. How could it be? He felt no pride over leaving her in the way that he had, but he’d done it for a very specific reason. “Wait, what did you mean when you mentioned the amount of Vulc swarming in? Just how many have entered the Continent?”

“I think the last estimate in Cintra was about twenty thousand. Of course, a lot of them will have been cut down by now, but then there’s the other places I’ve heard they’ve been spotted in too,” he replied, sounding very un-Jaskier like. It was hardly surprising.

“Twenty fucking thousand?” Geralt exclaimed, brow furrowing. No wonder even bards were being recruited to fight. This was a serious siege the Continent was under; way more so than he had anticipated while still in the north. “You’re going to need more than me to turn you into a competent fighter, Jaskier. In short, it’ll take a bloody miracle.”

“Is there anything magical I could call upon? Like a spell or something?” he then asked, feeling deflated that the one person who he thought could help him considered such an exercise a waste of time.

“If there is then I haven’t heard of it,” Geralt confessed.

“Would Yen know? She terrifies me still but I suppose if anyone had such knowledge, it’d be her. Where is she, anyway? I thought she’d likely be travelling with you,” he then inquired.

“I’ve no idea, Jaskier. Yen and I haven’t been together since not long after I last saw you,” he revealed, hoping it wasn’t going to turn into a long question and answer session. At that moment, talking about anything to do with women was a no go.

“Oh. Sorry to hear that, old friend.” Looking up at him, Jaskier knew better than to push the subject purely from the look on Geralt’s face. An expression that stony said ‘leave it there’ loud and clear.

He became further morose upon reaching the first of the horse markets he’d told Arelle about, located in Roggeven, a town in Redania where they now were. He actually found himself looking for steeds that’d be suited to her, mentally punching himself for doing so as he felt his chest tighten again. It was the physical ache of his heart yearning for the tiny sprite. He had to forget about it, about her.

“You look troubled,” Jaskier commented, browsing what was on offer.

“No more than usual. I recommend you buy yourself a horse, by the way. It’s a much easier way to get around rather than on foot,” he told him, changing the subject.

“Oh, don’t I know it! I had a little bay horse, got me quite far north, he did. That is, until I didn’t secure him properly one night and he ran off while I was sleeping.” How typical a fate to befall Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t help but laugh quietly, his friend looking embarrassed.

“That one, the iron grey. Good conformation, wide back, strong legs. Check if it’s a mare or gelding first though, no stallions. I don’t need the headache of Roach being in foal.” One check and an exchange of coins later and Jaskier had a mare named Kiri, happy to give his feet a rest as he climbed into the saddle.

“Don’t be fractious.” Geralt told Roach, who flattened her ears and waved her head angrily at Kiri, the mares squealing at one another before sniffing each other some more. Eventually they decided the other wasn’t so bad, the journey underway again.

Throughout their journey south, leaving Redania and entering Temeria, Jaskier noticed that Geralt appeared to be twice as quiet and curmudgeonly as usual. He wasn’t interesting in saying anything beyond a few words and also remained extremely secretive over why he’d been up in the Grey Mountains previous to his bumping into him.

No, Jaskier could barely get anything out of him, it seemed, the sour mood a complete mystery to him until one afternoon when they stopped at an inn just outside of Vallweir, a large group of sprites entering not long after they’d taken their seats.

“Oh, seven goddesses,” Davrin exclaimed quietly, looking at Axrin with trepidation, his friend returning a questioning look. “Geralt is in the corner, to the side of the door.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” He asked, wincing a little.

“I suppose we’ll find out.” That discovery was sooner rather than later, Arelle turning around to hand a beer to both of them and seeing him over Axrin’s shoulder, grinding to a halt as her heart felt like it was about to leap clean out of her chest. There he was, her love who had left her in an absolute, broken down mess.

He didn’t notice her at first, not by sight, at least. It was her scent, the concoction of rosemary and lavender that drifted under his nose which made him look up and into the one pair of green eyes he’d been dreaming of.

Any other thought which might have followed was cut abruptly short when she pushed past her brother and Axrin, her expression darkening and beautiful face twisting into rage as she stormed over to him, recoiled her arm and punched him straight in the nose.

“Fuck!” He roared, hardly able to believe he’d just heard a crack, meaning she’d likely broken it. The immediate gush of blood would indicate such. Holding his hand to it he felt that it didn’t feel as it should, gritting his teeth and resetting it with a loud crack that made Jaskier grimace before he got up and followed Arelle out of the inn.

“Arelle, I deserved that, I did,” he began, watching as she spun around, angrier than he’d ever witnessed her.

“No, no! You don’t get to talk now!” She began, utterly furious. “After everything, all the time we spent together, after all we talked through! You just left me!” she yelled at him, any cool she was hanging onto completely vanished. Her anger swirled like a tornado, palpable to him as he surely knew it would be when she finally caught up with him.

“I couldn’t let things develop even further. Someone had to stop it,” he spoke, Arelle feeling her heart sink. Why? Why did he feel like this?

“I don’t understand why you did. We were happy, you cannot tell me that you weren’t.” Folding her arms she studied him carefully, seeing that he looked conflicted as he gripped the empty hitching rail before him, grumbling with frustration.

“No, I can’t.”

“Then why? You eventually gave Yennefer her answer when you did the same thing to her, do you not think I deserve the same?”

“Because I can’t go into battle and face the prospect of losing the one person who means the world and beyond to me. That’s why I had to distance myself from you, because it’s too hard,” he hissed angrily, Arelle immediately cutting in.

“That’s fucking gutless. Yes the odds are likely not in our favour, but is it not better to fight side by side and love one another in the time we may have left, with hope that we might both come out the other side, or are you just going to keep running from your women when what they want inconveniences you emotionally?” At hearing this, there was no immediate retort to deliver. She was right.

“I always thought you were stronger than this, than to just walk away from the woman you claim to love simply to save yourself. Oh, except you actually never told me you loved me, yet another thing you’re apparently too gutless to say. Unless you didn’t ever love me at all?”

“I don’t recall you ever delivering those words to me either,” he cut in with, Arelle wanting to punch him again. How dare he.

“I know you like to take the easier path where you can, and in your lifestyle no one could blame you, but perhaps I was worth it? You made me think I was, once upon a fucking time, whether I told you I loved you or not.” She continued, not giving him the chance to answer before she stormed back into the inn.

“I wouldn’t think less of you if you cried, you know,” Davrin told her when she sat down, watching his sister hold onto it tightly, her eyes glassy as she sniffed.

“I won’t spill further tears for that man.” This is what she said, but later that night when they found a secluded spot to camp by, she turned away from the fire and pulled her blanket over her head so she could privately do just that.

It was the first time she’d cried over him in weeks, but seeing him, having him right there in front of her, wanting to run to him but also being so angry all she wanted to do was what she had done and hit him, it had left her more mixed up than she ever anticipated.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reads, kudos and reviews, guys!

“So that sprite girl then, hmm? From what I overheard in her rageful vexing at you, you were together at some point during your time north?” Jaskier questioned as they rode away from the inn.

“I don’t wish to talk about her.” Came Geralt’s stormy reply, his nose hurting about as much as he was from seeing how upset she’d been. Seeing her like that, it was awful. It proved that leaving her hadn’t worked, trying to put some distance between them. It didn’t matter. It didn’t cause him to love her any less and now she was hurt so much more than he ever considered she would be.

This meant he had two emotions currently swirling around his head that he didn’t care for. He felt guilty that he’d hurt her so much and angry that despite everything, he was still very much in love with the tiny sprite.

In his naivety over love and how to deal with it, he honestly had thought he could just saunter off and they’d both be fine, forget about one another and that the love would fade. He was wrong, of course, this he realised.

It was why he’d made a bit of a hash of actually extracting himself out of the only two relationships he’d been in, because he didn’t really understand the emotions that went along with them. With Yennefer, she’d been the one to drive him away but with Arelle, it was he who had done the driving, removed himself from a situation he honestly didn’t want to leave, but saw little other choice.

“You’re being even quieter than usual, you know. It’s unnerving,” Jaskier commented further along the journey, a day now passed since he’d seen Arelle.

“I don’t mean it to be,” he replied quietly, staring into the fire in front of them, picking at the remainder of one of the rabbits they’d trapped and cooked for dinner.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Jaskier began, Geralt not entertaining him by replying. “I think that you might feel better for talking about whatever it is that’s troubling you. I know you’re not the type of fellow to do that, but you never know.” He didn’t expect him to say a word, so jumped a little when he began to speak.

“Why, do you somehow expect to be able to help me? Okay, I’ll bite. Let’s see if you can help the fact that I fell so fucking hard in love with the sprite who broke my nose that I had to abandon her for the sake of my own comfort, completely disregarding anything she might have felt.

“As it turns out, it did nothing other than show me that I can’t run away from how I feel about her, my actions leaving her with the kind of broken heart the likes of which I didn’t expect them to and me being absolutely reviled by the woman I love. There, fucking help with that mess,” he told him, his tone quite derisive.

“So, I’m to take from that slightly acerbically delivered explanation that you regret your actions and want her back?” Jaskier asked, Geralt looking perplexed.

“You’re either deaf or not paying attention if you couldn’t pick up on that,” he grunted, folding his arms as his brow furrowed further. “Of course I bloody do.”

“You might want to begin that by apologising to her then and actually telling her that you love her, because nowhere in your argument yesterday did I hear you tell her either.” Fuck, he was right. He hadn’t. “With how livid she was, I wouldn’t expect her to immediately fall into your arms, but it’d be a good start, don’t you think?”

“Noted.” Geralt replied, with an air of finality Jaskier picked up on. Now, how on earth to actually get near enough to a woman who wanted nothing to do with him? Catching up to their party would be the first thing, he supposed. Since sprites moved a lot quicker than people on horseback though, this would pose a problem.

When they did finally meet the tail end of the large group she was in, he found that it would be easier to keep close to them since most of the sprites were moving at a walk, quite a few even on horseback too. He guessed it was to conserve energy, since to move as fast as they did such was depleted quickly.

Watching her as she hopped over the rocks carefully at the foot of the Owl Hills, he noted that she looked tired, even from the distance he was at.

“Little beauty, isn’t she?” A voice suddenly piped up from close by. It was one of the human men who had joined the call to war a few miles back with a group of his own. “A lot of people are saying it’s all the fault of the fae people, a couple of the fellas I’m travelling with haven’t been quiet in their hatred of them, but not me. Especially not towards the little green eyed lass who’s caught your eye either.” He continued, his eyes all over Arelle.

He didn’t really know how to respond to that, so just nodded and turned to talk to Jaskier, fuming internally that of course, he could stake no claim to Arelle and therefore tell the man to keep his eyes off his beloved. When they stopped to rest though, he could at least try to take the first tentative steps in seeing if what his actions had damaged could at all be mended.

“Arelle,” he began, approaching her.

“Go fuck yourself, Geralt.” She spat, walking away from him. He tried again at another stop before nightfall but was equally as unsuccessful, frowning to himself about it as he sat at the fire with Jaskier, smaller little camps of people all around them. Meanwhile over by her fire, Arelle was frowning for reasons of her own.

“So, is that it with the witcher then, sister? Absolutely no way, no how?” Davrin inquired. He’d bared witness to the big man being rebuffed by her twice earlier that day, Arelle steadfastly stonewalling him and any attempt at speech he made.

“Yes, that’s it. We’re very much a thing of the past. Geralt will understand that soon enough too.” She replied, her words biting and tone trenchant.

He knew to leave it right there, knew her well enough to know that the many words she’d verbally hurled at Geralt outside the inn a few days ago – a lot of which he’d partially overheard – were all she needed to say on the matter of him and their broken relationship. “I know you both get along well, that you and he friends of sorts too. I won’t hold it against you if you wish to still consort with him.”

Davrin smiled, squeezing her arm and taking his last swig of ale before leaning forward to take a refill from Tobin, an elf amongst their party. He was angry at him too for hurting his sister, of course he was, but he really didn’t want to take sides in it all as yet since he didn’t know what Geralt’s reasons were for doing what he had.

He had a hard time believing that Arelle meant so little to him that he saw it fit to walk away from her without word or warning. After seeing them together as he had, no one with eyes could believe that. All he knew was that ultimately, he was there for his sister first. After Arelle had taken to her blanket and fallen asleep, it didn’t stop him from talking to the man when he approached him.

“Are you going to break my nose too?” Geralt asked, sitting down next to him at the fire, acknowledging a nearby Axrin with a nod. He’d waited for Arelle to go to sleep first before approaching, knowing she wanted him nowhere near her.

“That all depends on your side of the story, which I assume you’re here to deliver to me,” Davrin said, throwing bits of sticks at his feet into the roaring fire.

“Your sister accused me of being gutless earlier. In a way I suppose I am. I walked away from her to spare us both the heartache of what is to come. Love and war are not two things that have ever mixed particularly well,” he explained, Davrin snorting.

“Arelle would have stayed with you through thick and thin. That’s what love is, not giving up when it gets too difficult. I could be furious with you for hurting my sister as much as you did, yet I struggle with the idea of such. Truly, I don’t think you understand what love is. You’re a witcher, it isn’t in your nature to form such attachments. I don’t fully forgive your actions, but I understand them,” he spoke, his words slow and careful.

“Perhaps you have a point.” The big man was concise as ever, nodding as he mulled Davrin’s words over some more. “What would you wager the chances of me winning her affections back to be?”

“Only Arelle could answer that for you. An estimated guess would put you at around zero at this precise moment, the mood she’s in with you.” Geralt nodded, made an ‘hmm’ sound and then left him to it, returning to Jaskier.

“Are you still in the shit?” his friend inquired as he sat down.

“It would appear so, according to her brother,” Geralt replied, frowning heavily. He was furious at himself, he truly was. He’d really, really messed up quite spectacularly.

“Give it time, old friend. She might calm down, but if she doesn’t, well I’m not going to word the rest. I don’t much fancy being thumped at the moment,” he laughed, turning to look at him.

“Hmm.” Jaskier knew him better than to say anything further, leaving him with his thoughts as he unrolled his blanket from his pack, wrapping himself up in it and shutting his eyes, thinking of ways he might be able to remedy this situation. He supposed there was only one course of action, really.

It wasn’t any of his business and Geralt would likely be furious with him at any attempted intervention, but Jaskier hated the thought of him being so miserable. It wasn’t an entirely magnanimous sentiment though.

He of course cared about his friend, but also knew for as long as Geralt was pissed off regarding the whole Arelle debacle, his life was likely to be made a lot tougher than usual. Jaskier preferred an easier, more carefree existence.

No one on the road to or presently fighting against Mardryk and his dark forces had that though, but it could stand to be a little easier. He knew what he had to do. It involved striking up a conversation with a certain pretty little sprite with reddish brown hair.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so pleased over how much you guys seem to be enjoying this! I love to make others happy with my works. Looking forward to your thoughts, as ever.

“Geralt, are those…they are, aren’t they?” Jaskier asked, swallowing a large, nervous lump in his throat. Nervous was wrong; it was more terrified. 

“Vulc, yes,” he replied, dismounting Roach. “I’m surprised this is the first time you’ve encountered them, if they’re sweeping into the Continent at the rate you say.”

“Oh bloody, buggery, bollocks,” he replied, swallowing hard with nerves before jumping out of his skin when their eerie, blood curdling roars became audible. Sensing fear flooding his friend, Geralt knew he wasn’t ready to face them and quietly, cared too much to force him into it. 

“Stay here with the horses. Now isn’t your time,” he stated, handing Roach’s reins to him. “If any get past the rest of us though, shoo them away and aim for either the guts or the head. Disembowelling or beheading them is your best bet.” 

“But shouldn’t I…” Jaskier began.

“Stay up here!” Geralt barked in interruption, before leaving at a run with everyone else to meet the oncoming Vulc in the distance. The beasts covered the ground quickly, roaring, some even frothing at the mouth in frenzied anticipation for blood. 

The opposing forces met with a loud crash, Vulc roaring in pain as they met their enemies’ weapons, fae and human fighters alike screaming as they were injured or killed, Geralt in the middle of it working through the adversaries at a blindingly rapid rate. 

Their side managed to gain the upper hand over the throng of at the top of the valley, the fighters below still battling hard against them as Geralt and another hundred or so moved south to lend assistance. It was as he ran toward the fight that he witnessed a sight which made him immensely proud, Arelle holding her own and doing so magnificently.

Gone was the nervous woman making silly mistakes and in her place was a fighter staring squarely at danger and reacting with stealth, speed and power. She wasn’t perfect, Geralt’s seasoned eye did notice her make a few mistakes, but she recovered from them quickly, swirling her lance around and goring the heads of the Vulc she encountered, felling them one by one. 

The fight was won by the side of the good, cheers of victory echoing through the valley as the last of the Vulc were cut down, Geralt yanking his sword back out from the corpse of the last of them he’d slain as he watched Davrin run to his sister, swinging her around in his arms and shouting of his pride in her. He wished he could do the same, wished it was him at her side. 

He’d been so wrong to leave her for such derisory reasons; this he saw so clearly now. Arelle was right, he was gutless. If he’d been as brave in love as he was a battle then none of this would be happening to him, to her. To them. There was no them anymore, though. 

He made and attempt to approach her, Davrin seeing him before Arelle did and making himself scarce. When she did witness Geralt heading her direction though, she turned and covered the ground at speed to get away from him, leaving him in absolutely no doubt over what she wanted. Him unequivocally nowhere near here, was what she desired. 

Geralt didn’t leave it there though, making another few attempts to speak to her before they arrived in Cintra, each of them rebuffed entirely. She didn’t even speak to him, just turned and walked away every time he made an approach. 

Luckily, if he could coin it as such, the war against Mardryk’s forces became so intense as they travelled through Cintra, he didn’t really have much time to think about it at all. Neither did Arelle, war becoming their primary focus.

The northern army met the rapidly depleting forces of Queen Calanthe over ground between the cities of Cintra and Hochebuz, finding the spider-like creatures Geralt had encountered in the north also present along with the throng of Vulc.

The army headed west through the Erlenwald forest and out into the Amell Mountains, the weather much more bitter as they reached the higher terrain, although spring was practically upon them. It had been three months since Arelle had left her home, the Grey Mountains seeming very far away now, but always in her heart. 

She longed to return, but realised with each battle that passed and the opposition mounting as it was, home was a place she would not likely see for a very long time. 

The northern army was hardy, but with no roof over their heads as they slept night after night, food being rationed so there was enough to go around and so many of them succumbing to injury, the harsh realities of war were beginning to set in. 

Ten thousand left the Grey Mountains in their wave, yet calculating it now Arelle estimated that only seven thousand remained. Sprites and elves she’d known since childhood had perished, those poor souls never to return to the north, not even to be buried. Whatever was left of the bodies was burned on a pyre en masse before the army moved on. It was sad. 

The battles were becoming harder and bloodier too, everyone exhausted and uncomfortable. One thing she couldn’t help but notice though was how Geralt rarely showed signs of fatigue. No matter what she told him – or herself for that matter - a large chunk of her was still so very deeply in love with him. Perhaps all of her if she was honest.

This meant that of course, she watched out for him, her heart thundering with nerves if he ever became too surrounded, calming immediately when she watched him brutally slay the oncoming forces. However, there did come a battle when such didn’t happen though, something she and a few others from her group couldn’t help but notice.

“The witchers. They’re going for the witchers, they know! They actually comprehend that they’re our strongest!” Axrin shouted to Arelle over the noise of the battle, Arelle cutting down two oncoming Vulc and bouncing off their corpses to look. He was right. Geralt, some way in the distance and another two witchers whom she did not know the names of closer to them were utterly deluged by the enemy. 

Without even thinking on it, she tore a path in his direction, cutting down anything in her way, her entire body screaming in pain. She was so focused she narrowly missed a huge Vulc charging at her, the creature almost clutching her in its giant paws, Arelle springing into the air and taking its head with her sword. 

The onslaught became thicker the closer she got to Geralt, her heart going into overdrive when suddenly, she couldn’t see him. Surging forward, lance in one hand and sword in the other, she flew through the air, cutting down her opponents as she frantically searched for him through the crush. 

She bounced from body to body, slaying each of them before suddenly a Vulc carcass came hurtling past her, Geralt emerging from under it as he continued to butcher them. 

He was hurt though, she saw this in the fact he couldn’t move as quickly as usual, his tremendous and formidable fighting prowess dented by the claw marks leading down his right arm. They’d even ripped through his armour in one place

Geralt could hardly believe his eyes when he saw her there, helping him, risking everything to thin out the enemy that he of course knew had singled out on him and the other two witchers on the battlefield. Somewhere in her heart, she still must’ve loved him. 

This wasn’t what he focused on though, what drew him and made his heart swell. Watching her as he fought on, he was so proud of her. She still didn’t fit the category of a perfectly seasoned warrior, but her might was impressive, her skills commendable and her lack of mercy absolutely staggering. She was just as savage as he. 

He could barely comprehend the power she seemed to possess, fighting on the ground, in the air, her sword and lance working together as she gutted, gored and hacked at the Vulc, her face and attire bloodied, her voice hoarse as she screamed with effort. 

They fought until the onslaught had thinned to nothing, Arelle turning her attentions back to the other end of the battlefield before looking back at him. 

Neither said anything, not one single word as they moved slowly to one another, Arelle reaching up to place her hand at the back of his neck and then pull him down to her level. She then granted him exactly what they’d both missed in their time apart; a kiss. 

It was a kiss of fiery passion, of longing, of life, their lives still being intact when death literally surrounded them, but most of all it was a kiss of the most sublime, overcoming love. The way they kissed each other was unlike they’d ever kissed another before, but yet when Arelle pulled away from him, her eyes were still not kind. 

It was in that moment Geralt realised that she still had a lot of hurt to overcome, but maybe, just maybe, one day she actually could. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I failed to update yesterday, you get two chapters today. Enjoy!

“Don’t you think you should - fucking shitting fuck - tend to your wounds before mine, old friend?” Jaskier asked after the battle was over, Geralt pouring a potion directly into the wound caused by Vulc claws to Jaskier’s lower leg. As it turned out, hiding hadn’t been an option for the bard, who after shooing the horses away as per Geralt’s instruction had fought with the rest of them.

“My arm isn’t as bad as it looks. Sit still.” He told him gruffly in reply. He was actually quite surprised by the fact that Jaskier managed to wield a sword with efficient finesse, the lessons he’d been giving him along the way seemingly paying off nicely.

He’d always had an element of cowardice about him back when they’d first met, always running to Geralt for assistance if he ever found himself in a predicament. Now though, Jaskier carried himself differently, like a man who was more than capable of standing up for himself.

He still complained tirelessly at times, still annoyed the utter life out of Geralt, but the pusillanimity within him had diminished. Of course, just like Arelle he was no hardened warrior, but he was capable of giving the enemy something to think about.

“I saw her kiss you out there, Arelle,” he commented, taking the poultice Geralt handed him and holding it over the wound on his head.

“Hmm,” he replied, busying himself with assessing his own wounds.

“So, is everything hunky dory once more with you both?” Jaskier then questioned.

“Far from it. I’m still in her bad books, a place in which I expect to remain.” His prediction was quite correct, for in the week that followed whatever had softened towards him in that moment on the battlefield when truly, she had saved his life before kissing him, had well and truly closed again. It was at this point that Jaskier realised perhaps his previous tentative plans to help could come to fruition.

“Woah, steady on there. Here, up you go. Let Kiri carry you for a while,” he told Arelle after riding up behind her. He’d noticed her becoming quite wobbly on her feet for the last few miles as they journeyed to where the reports of more Vulc activity had been sighted, so intended to offer his mare. He’d physically caught her just in time, the sprite nearly fainting from tiredness.

“Thank you, erm…Jaskier, is it?” she replied. Geralt had spoken about his friend a few times back when they were together, so she naturally assumed the man who’d just lifted her onto his horse to be him.

“Yes, that’s right. Nice to actually meet you properly, Arelle,” he replied, offering his hand which she shook after gathering the reins and sliding her feet into the stirrups. They were too long, but she was too tired to be concerned over shortening the leathers.

Getting the impression right away that Arelle was not the type of woman to indulge small talk, he asked her instead about her fighting, whether she’d seen battle before since he found hers and the rest of the fae folk’s fighting skills to be very impressive. He found her much more responsive to a subject that required a little more narrative depth.

“Yes, life is vastly different for me too these days. I used to have my lute on my back and a song in my heart. Now I carry a sword, have muscles in places I never expected to form any and face the kind of enemy I would have ran from in utter shameful cowardice at one point!” Jaskier revealed as they talked, Arelle laughing softly. “Seriously, feel this! This was nothing but softness up until a few months ago!” he then added comically, flexing his bicep.

She humoured him and gave it a squeeze, Jaskier shaking his head at her impressed face, which he could tell was entirely put on for his benefit. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t expect a woman whose been held in the gigantic arms of Geralt of Rivia to be impressed with my feeble swellings.”

“Well I do find you impressive, so there,” she began with a little wink. “You went from a bard who, as Geralt coined you once, was afraid of his own shadow at times, to a fighter in a war against the kind of beasts who truly are ferocious and horrifying to behold.” She complimented him, Jaskier taking her praise with a little bow.

They continued to talk throughout the rest of the afternoon until everyone came to a stop to make camp for the night, a party heading out to forage for food. Luckily they were right on the edge of a forest, the scavengers heading back with many deer and wild boar so at least a good meal was insured for the northern army that night.

Once all of that food had been circulated and put over the fires to cook, Arelle sat down, removing her boots from her tired feet and sighing, Jaskier taking a seat next to her.

“Are you not heading back to him?” she asked, nodding in the direction of Geralt, who sat about five fires away to the right of them.

“I could ask you the exact same question,” he began, watching her face turn a little sour.

“No. He…” she began, trailing off a little. Opening up wasn’t one of her strong points, but yet looking up into Jaskier’s kind eyes, she very much got the impression that she could with him. “He hurt me.”

“I don’t think he meant to at all, Arelle. You see, the thing about Geralt is that all of this is new for him, forming bonds with people. He didn’t have what you and I had, parents, family, friends. To him, love is a concept that is quite foreign. He knows he can feel it, but he doesn’t truly understand it.

“What’s more, I don’t think he comprehends how others can love him either. He’s never been the poor little orphan type, neither has he ever fitted such a stereotype, but that’s exactly what he is. I think when he left you, he likely thought you’d get over it quickly because he truly didn’t grasp the weight of your feelings towards him.

“I’m not saying leaving you without a word was right, but I do think he truly didn’t understand the pain you’d feel. I can tell that you do too, or did, or maybe a little of both. He does too, you know. He loves you deeply.” He explained to her at length, his words certainly giving Arelle something to contemplate.

She’d never thought of it like that before, but what Jaskier had said was correct. While Geralt could feel emotions, he was somewhat naïve at dealing with them properly, simply because he didn’t really know how to. Still though, this didn’t make everything right in her mind.

Arelle knew herself well enough to know she still loved him with all her heart, but the damage had been done and it wasn’t something that she could discount and pretend hadn’t happened. Just because he likely didn’t fully comprehend that damage, he was still a grown man. He still should have had some iota of how much he meant to her.

It was here that she could feel herself getting furious over it again, the conflict inside becoming a vast chasm once more. Her desire to run to him and from him was a gap that had narrowed when she’d encountered him in need on the battlefield, but now it was palpably widening again.

Maybe if she approached him and actually let him speak to her, explain things from his perspective as best he could, it might help her feel less conflicted? No. No, she couldn’t. She was too scared of what he might say, what he might not say, how such would make her feel. No. Much too scary.

Before she had chance to contemplate all of this frustration further though, the sudden appearance of a portal to her left startled her, Daida and Florie tumbling through it a second later. Arelle had wondered after she was given the tracking bracelet just how long it would take for her friend to find her way to her.

“Are you both okay?” she exclaimed, helping Daida to her feet after her awkward landing, a nearby elf assisting Florie.

“We are now we’re here, bloody hell!” she began, shaking her head. “Does anyone have alcohol? I need a drink.” Axrin was on hand with his flask in an instant, Arelle noticing how shaky the hand was which took it from him as Daida gave her thanks.

“So, what’s been occurring up there? Did Kesrin finally let you both go with her permission or did you just abscond of your own volition?” Arelle asked, the women sitting down at the fire.

“I’m afraid we don’t bring good news with us,” Florie stated sombrely, taking the flask offered to her by Daida, who then began to explain.

“The north has fallen,” she began, everyone around the fire suddenly very alert, crowding around the mages, their faces fraught with worry for their loved ones left behind. “We managed to portal a lot of people to safety, or at least a safer place than the Grey Mountains was at the point we left with our lives barely intact. It’s Kesrin. She’s in league with Mardryk.” All around people gasped in shock, hardly able to believe their ears. Until, that was, it sunk in a little better.

“Well that fucking explains her lenience after the last war, doesn’t it?” Kydrin, the elf who’d assisted Florie spoke, shaking his head. More people began to gather around after hearing the news, the ripples spreading through the camp. Two of them were Geralt and Jaskier, coming to stand close to Arelle.

“It does, it perfectly explains her actions. She was either planted there by him or enchanted by him. Either way, we’ll never know. One of the reasons we left so quickly is that whatever she was or what she was responsible for, she was still our ruler and right now I am wanted for treason in the north for putting a sword straight through her gut.”

“Well done, Daida,” Geralt complimented her with. “There was always something about that woman I couldn’t put my finger on. It seems I was right to be suspicious of her.”

“Yes, you truly were, Geralt. It all explains so much, but in killing her I see that I’ve made things a thousand times more difficult for everyone. Florie and I are the only two surviving mages, everyone else she ordered to be killed in the battle that broke out at the palace.

“We were the last defence of the Grey Mountains and without us, the portals will keep opening and the Continent will continue to be flooded by the enemy. We didn’t get a chance to finish setting all the wards, so they can still get in.” Shaking her head she then hid her face behind her hands, realising the weight her actions carried.

On the one hand, she was a saviour for removing Kesrin from power, but on the other, she’d now left the north defenceless. It wasn’t an enviable position to be in, the knock-on effect of which would surely soon be felt by each and every person in the northern army at some point too. This much was undeniable.


	22. Chapter 22

“One thing we did manage to do of good use before we left was create these,” Daida spoke, after being consoled in Arelle’s arms after she’d had a bit of a cry. She felt tremendous guilt despite the fact everyone around the fire was hailing her a hero for killing the queen, regardless of the ramifications of such a move.

Pulling over one of the four large hessian sacks she and Florie had brought through the portal with them, she opened it up and began to search through, pulling out small wooden boxes Arelle recognised immediately. They were tent boxes, the cleverest of magical inventions created by the fae mages.

All you had to do was place the box down, tap it with your finger and out from within unfolded a furnished tent. It was exceptional magic, used the last time they’d been at war. Finally, after months of discomfort and exposure to the elements, everyone would have a place to sleep in comfort.

They all had numbers written on the bottom of the boxes, indicating what berth each tent was, Florie explaining they’d contain bunks to sleep multiple people. While she did this and handed them out with the help of a few people around the fire, Daida pulled Arelle to one side, passing her a box she’d kept back.

“This is a special one for you and Geralt. Come on, let me show you!” She didn’t have time to explain the complicated mess that was her and the man she passed by as Daida took her hand, but once the tent had sprung up from the box and they were within, she took the first chance she got.

“Listen, Geralt and I… we’re not together any longer,” she began, watching Daida’s eyes widen in disbelief. She sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to her with a look of concern, Arelle sitting down and explaining everything that had happened up until that point.

“I think it’s very sad, you two looked so happy and well suited. Maybe you’re right though, maybe he doesn’t really know how to process the emotions that go hand in hand with a romantic relationship. Or, maybe he does and he’ll prove this to you. I can’t answer that for you. I just hope whatever happens, you’ll be okay and happy,” she explained, Arelle nodding as she squeezed her hand in thanks for her support.

“Me too. Now, tell me all about what makes this tent special,” she asked, Daida’s face lighting up. She’d almost forgotten after listening to her friends’ tale of romantic woe.

“It’s a tent of requirement. Essentially you can ask for almost anything you want, within reason, of course and the tent will provide. Watch. I require an extra blanket for the bed.” Turning around, there it was, dark red and woollen, folded up neatly behind them.

“You’ll have to experiment with what it can and can’t conjure for you, but I can tell you now you can’t ask for food or people to be brought here. That’s a step too complicated. I tried when I was creating them. I asked for ham and it brought me a live piglet!”

Arelle couldn’t help but burst out laughing at this. It was a laugh she needed as well, after being so exhausted and tired from battling and travelling, her life reduced to just those two extreme pursuits. They sat and chatted for a while, Daida conjuring a small fire pit for warmth before she went to set up her own tent, leaving Arelle to strip off and try her first request.

“I require a hot bath and a soft peshtemal.” She watched in utter awe as her required items appeared, gladly getting into the big tub and sinking down in the water with a relieved sigh. Her cuts and scrapes stung as the hot water hit them, but she didn’t care. She’d needed this for months, being smelly, dirty and aching for longer than ever before.

Once she was clean and aching considerably less, she climbed out and dried herself off with the peshtemal, peeled back the bed covers and flopped down face first, muttering that she required the bathtub to be gone and the fire to be put out, the tent falling into darkness a few seconds before her eyes fluttered shut and she was sound asleep.

The mood within the camp seemed a lot more positive for everyone actually having a comfortable bed to sleep in, the spirits of the northern army lifted as they continued on their journey. At hearing word that a fraction of fighters travelling up from Nilfgaard had come under heavy attack, the decision was made for half the fighting force to peel off and head further south, the other half to continue east to Toussaint.

Daida and Florie remained in the group that headed east, definitely giving them a good advantage over the Vulc and the spider-like creatures, but still, their sheer numbers alone meant that no battle victory came easily. Life was even harder for two particular people in amongst it all too, Geralt and Arelle still no closer to sorting through the ruins of their relationship.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying on his part, thinking that perhaps after she’d kissed him on the battlefield weeks ago that there was a slither of a chance she might come around eventually. She showed no signs of it though, not even to talking with him.

“Please, just… I need time, Geralt. You need to stop attempting to mend things when truthfully, I don’t know if I want them to be mended between us.” She told him one morning after he’d approached her. He nodded, turning and heading off, feeling prickled at being rebuffed yet again. He didn’t have the time to dwell on it though, their force meeting that of Mardryk’s later that morning in one of the bloodiest battles of the war thus far.

One thing it did do was drive him to fight his frustrations at being without her out of his system via his sword, brutally cutting down anything that made the mistake of getting in his way. The monsters were still making a beeline for the witchers, just Geralt and one other remaining now since the third had headed south with the rest of the army.

One thing he did notice was that despite her words, Arelle was close by all throughout the battle, keeping an eye on him, assisting in cutting back the enemy if they became too thick around him at any point. Her words said she didn’t want him, but her actions spoke a completely different language, which was the part that frustrated him the most.

Geralt couldn’t be angry at her for it either, because he deserved her distance after he’d put exactly that between them in the first place. He just wished she’d let him make everything better for her again, because he would. He could. He wanted to prove he was worthy of her love.

He knew he could, for being without her was a prospect much scarier than the thought of loving and losing her to war. He still loved her and could still lose her and if he did, he’d have lost Arelle when she wasn’t truly his to lose. He saw that now.

After the battle had ceased, their side taking a lamentably huge loss in defeating the enemy, they both stood staring at each other for a time, Geralt then slowly walking to her and stroking her face. She leaned into his hand, nuzzling his palm for a moment as tears slid from her eyes, inhaling a shaky breath before she turned away from him.

“Arelle, wait.” He said, his words being met by silence. No. He couldn’t go on like this. He followed her back to the camp, waiting as she tapped her tent box and walked in, following her inside.

“You might tell me one thing, but your actions always speak another. This you know as well as I,” he told her, Arelle leaning back against her dresser, wiping her bloodied hands on her trousers while she frowned at him. “And you could look at me like that forever and I’d never stop loving you.”

“I’m not ready to forgive you, Geralt. Please, leave me alone. I’ve told you before. I need time, so give it to me.” She muttered weakly, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he walked back out of her tent, her body giving up shortly after. It had taken courage and strength to get through such a monumental battle, seeing him at the end of it and hearing those words tipping her over the edge into the emotional.

She collapsed to her knees, hugging her arms over her head as she gasped and cried. She was mostly battle weary, but couldn’t deny that her tears were over him too. Geralt, the only man she’d ever loved and finally he’d told her the words she longed to hear, that he loved her too. Could she let him back in again after he’d hurt her so much?

“I require a bath.” She spoke, the magic of the tent doing its job and conjuring the bathtub, steaming hot and very inviting to her battle battered body. She stripped off, stating that she required clean clothes, her formerly blood and mud sodden attire appearing fresh and folded on the end of her bed before she was even fully submerged in the water.

What she required most was him, but she felt ambivalent. To run to or away from him, that was the question. She was pondering it all when suddenly, he returned.

“No. I won’t be dismissed by you. I’ve fucking had enough of you ignoring me, Arelle. You’ve had time, ample amounts of it, in fact,” he began sternly as he came to a stop by the side of the bath. “You are perhaps the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met but fuck, you’re infuriatingly stubborn. I’ve deserved it for leaving you, I know it, but stop punishing me. I made a mistake. I fucking love you more than I can fathom and I do not know how to continue being without you any longer.”

“You love me, but you come in here and shout at me when I’m not the one who did anything wrong?” she questioned as she stood up in the tub to face him.

“Of course I love you. I shan’t ever fucking cease to love you either. The mountains will fall to dust and the sun will burn itself out of the sky before I stop loving you.” Those final words were perhaps the most beautiful anyone had ever spoken to her before. They made her mouth go dry, her stomach lurch and her heart skip several beats.

They conveyed the weight of his affection and devotion to her entirely, made her finally see that he meant it; he was sorry and he was in love with her. She saw it in that moment, in his eyes that burned fiery amber, heard it in his words, his conviction was resolute and strong, just as he.

He loved her, he was sorry and he wanted to return to her. She just had to let him in. It was then as she stared up at him that she realised she wanted to do just that. She could be without him no more.

“I love you, my tiny beauty,” he told her again in little more than a whisper, resting his forehead to hers.

“I love you too, my white wolf,” she began, stroking his face. “I really did a number on your nose, didn’t I? I see the bump up close now.” She then added, sniffing as she began to cry happy tears.

“Yes, you did. Little savage.” She laughed then, drying her eyes before his arms crept around her, Arelle stroking his stubbly face as they finally kissed. It was relief incomparable to be reunited, elation flooding them both as they held one another tightly.

“Get undressed. I need you, right now, in the bath,” she told him between kisses, tugging at his shirt.

“There might not be a lot of water left in there afterwards,” he commented, pulling himself out of the shirt she was tugging on while her fingers unfastened his trousers.

“I couldn’t give a shit.” She truly couldn’t either. Every care in the world vanished in that moment and all that existed was him, them, back together again.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to you all for your continued readership and commentary.

Their bodies rose and fell against each other in the most perfect unison, arms locked around one another, hands moving to stroke and mouths still connected in the most heated, erotic but loving kisses imaginable. Becoming frustrated with the water, Geralt carried her from the tub to the bed, their wet skin pressed together as they gasped and panted, beyond elated to be reunited.

Just the touch, the feel of the other against them was solace incomparable. All that longing for one another, it was now being played out in the most delectable of exchanges. 

“It’s futile, attempting to fight me for dominance,” he told her, Arelle giggling. Encircling both of her slender wrists in one of his big hands, he pinned them above her head, taking a moment to look down upon her with fond gaze. “Beautiful.” His mouth founds her once again, kissing her with intense yearning before his lips travelled to her neck. 

“Am I to lie here and enjoy being dominated then?” she questioned.

“For now.” His mouth began to inch lower, trailing her throat, tongue dragging slowly over the rise and fall of her collarbones as his hand slipped between her legs. She trembled at feeling his fingers brush over her clit, opening her like a flower as they pushed inside her thereafter. Her arousal bathed them immediately, Geralt biting her nipple in response, her soft moan making his cock throb. 

Curling his fingers, he began to stroke at her skilfully, his mouth moving over her skin hungrily as her body undulated against his, arousal soaring through her. Letting go of his grip on her wrists, he began to inch his mouth downwards slowly, the smell of her sex utterly intoxicating to him.

All the barbarous longing for one another was now being sated so sweetly, divine pleasures coursing through them gently as they revelled in one another, Arelle’s hands reacquainting themselves with his massive arms, her eyes catching his in a powerful gaze. 

She cried out in utter bliss, uncaring that the next tent over would be able to hear everything as she felt Geralt begin to lick her clit. To have his mouth where she’d sorely missed it was matchless gratification, his fingers speeding up as he watched her squirm with delectation.

He hadn’t been with another woman since her, not interested in cheap whores who had attempted to entice him. The only woman he imagined sating his desires with was the one whose cunt he had a mouthful of in that moment, sucking and licking at her as she groaned, gripping her narrow waist as he felt her hands holding onto his forearms.

Moving his mouth he began to kiss her thighs, lips travelling over her skin, wanting to kiss and taste every last inch of her. His fingers moved back to pleasuring her, circling her clit and dipping inside her velvety wetness. 

He explored every last inch of her pussy, fingertips swirling and stroking, mouth now running up her sides and making her shudder and squeak when his tongue tickled her ribcage. 

“Geralt…I…need…can we,” she panted a little incoherently between kisses after his mouth had worked its way back to hers.

“This?” He questioned, after plunging every last inch of his enormity with her. He got his answer by the noise she made, a soft gasp at suddenly being stretched so wide, followed by a shrill cry. He fingers stroked his face as she stared up at him, eyes locked on his as she whispered ‘I love you’, her head then tipping back as he covered her breasts in kisses, licks and nibbles. 

The connection, the chemistry between them was beyond intense, every single cell within them alight with love and lust for one another. Panting, moaning and groaning in abandon, their hands travelled all over one another, intense stares shared and even hotter kisses following.

It was ardent, passionate, erotic bliss they tumbled into as their bodies rolled around on the bed together, the culmination being Arelle on top of him, riding him hard. 

“That’s it, my little sprite. You work for it,” he told her, Arelle pouting a little as he laughed through each ragged pant. “Or maybe I should assist, if only to see your face do that.” He added, rubbing her clit with his thumb and watching her mouth fall open, a wail exiting it soon after. 

Their undoing came in all-consuming wave after wave of fervent tingles, those little sparks of pleasure erupting into the utter beatific release, both feeling light headed and warm, floating in elation in the aftermath. They kissed and stroked one another, Arelle lying flat against Geralt’s broad chest as she felt his cock twitching inside her still, his eyes looking like actual fire as he stared at her. 

“Now, what are these for?” he asked her softly, stroking her sudden tears as they fell.

“Because all I’ve longed for is you and now you’re here again. This leaves me all overcome and vulnerable and I don’t like it!” she fumed at herself, dying her eyes as his deep, rumbling laugh filled her ears. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her cheek, turning onto his side and holding her close. 

“If there’s one person you can be vulnerable with, it’s me. I shan’t expose your secrets, no one will know how utterly adorable you are beneath the tough exterior.” She felt silly for her sudden emotional response, but the way he made it okay for her to do that left her feeling extremely safe as he held her, stroking her back and her hair. 

They lay in each other’s arms idly stroking one another for what felt like a very long time, re-connecting through talk, stopping to spend periods just kissing, being very tender and doting. They’d longed for this almost as much, if not more than the physical they’d shared.

“Watching you in battle has made me a proud man, you know. You’re more than just capable, you’re really giving the opponent something to think about,” he complimented her as they discussed the war thus far. 

“Thank you. After you’d gone, I continued training myself. I built my stamina, learned how to use my mother’s lance again too. It’s been a while since I wielded one,” she replied, stroking his chest hair. 

“Yes, I did notice the extra addition to your weaponry. You wield it very proficiently. I’ve seen you make a few mistakes but honestly, I think you know them too and always work diligently to correct them. I’m sure your mother would be very proud of you,” he told her, kissing her forehead. 

“I’d like to think she would be too. Knowing you are proud of me is very fulfilling though. I suppose I’d better try extra hard not to die now.” He smiled, nodding before they exchanged more kisses, their passions stirring again. 

From the duress of battle they were both too physically exhausted to enjoy each other all night long, no matter how much they’d have liked to, both falling asleep curled around one another as the camp became quiet and the fires burned to embers. 

“Oh that’s absolutely sickening, how content you look,” Jaskier commented the next morning as Geralt and Arelle rode at his side, the former sat a little further back in Roach’s saddle so the latter could squeeze on. 

She was exhausted and also limping a little; he wouldn’t have it that she insisted on walking, so made room for her aboard his horse. She picked apples from the trees as they rode past them, throwing them to her companions and holding one for Geralt so he could eat it without letting go of the reins, kissing his cheek every so often. “So I’m being ignored in favour of your girlfriend, hmm?” Jaskier continued, his tone pantomime and comic.

“Yes.” Geralt said simply, taking another bite from the apple held for him, Arelle giggling quietly. He might have teased him, but underneath Jaskier was very happy for his friend. Outwardly, he still looked like the same sullen, morose Geralt, until he looked at Arelle. That’s when he lit up just a little, but enough for someone like Jaskier to notice. 

He’d seen it before when he was with Yennefer, but it was somehow different for Arelle, the way he reacted to her. He wasn’t overly affectionate, but when he thought no one was looking he’d kiss the side of her neck, or hold Roach’s reins in one hand so he could wrap his arm around her, these little gestures didn’t go unnoticed. He was utterly enamoured with the sprite. 

In order to track the position of the enemy, sprite scouts were sent out ahead of the bulk of the army, their quick movement meaning they could cover vast amounts of land at great speed, reporting back to their people with the positioning of the Vulc just as speedily. 

Once the scouts sent out two days ago had returned, it was decreed the army would make camp once more and rest. Too many were tired and injured and with their enemy still many, many miles away, they had time to take a much needed break. Of course, as soon as they stopped and Geralt had attended to Roach, he absconded himself to Arelle’s tent. 

“All this affection. I feel like I am being greatly wooed,” she told him happily as he stood behind her, stroking her shoulders as he kissed her neck.

“You are. I have much lost time to make up for,” he replied as she turned to kiss his lips. Her heart couldn’t get much higher at that point, her love back in her arms where he belonged. She was floating in bliss, just as he was as well.

For Arelle, it was the first time she’d really allowed herself to be like this with a man. Before Geralt the longest relationship which held any significance was her five year romance with Axrin, but even with him there was a large part of her heart that she always held back. This was why it had hurt her so deeply when Geralt had left; her entire heart belonged to him. 

This time though, she knew he’d cherish it. She knew it was different, knew he was different. _The mountains will fall to dust and the sun will burn itself out of the sky before I stop loving you_. Those words! They made her heart flutter every time she remembered him speak them. No one had ever told her anything as powerfully romantic in all her life, and she knew he meant every word with the hardiest of conviction.

“We would extend it, you know. Knock out the far wall and build a good few more feet of house that would stretch beyond the stables. Potentially, we could clear the trees further and move it all back. You could have a proper garden, Roach would have more grazing room too,” Geralt suggested, as they lay on the bed talking about a future together, of making her cottage theirs. 

“I like the idea of this. Eventually I would like to invest in more animals, so clearing the trees would allow for both a bigger house and enough space to facilitate more grazing land and outbuildings. It’ll give me something to focus on when you’re away from me as well, I’ll be kept nicely busy,” she commented, Geralt nodding.

“If you were to employ a few farm hands, there’d be nothing to stop you from coming with me when I leave either. I wouldn’t expect you to come away on every trip I make, but if you so choose to, I would not mind.” Their conversation over how much time they would spend in the Grey Mountains versus travelling continued for a while, until Geralt knew there was a more pertinent question he had to ask.

“Arelle, I see myself remaining with you unquestionably, but this would come at a price to you. Will you be content with the fact I shall never be able to give you children?” he asked, Arelle smiling sweetly as she reached to stroke his face.

“Children were never really in my plan, if I’m honest. I think I would have thought about having them by now if they were, even though sixty-one is still very young for us sprites to consider bearing young. You, though? You are in my plan.” 

This was good enough for him to hear. Being in someone’s plan felt wonderful, he had to admit. Although he’d always professed that he didn’t want anyone to need him, or vice versa, it was the fact that Arelle really didn’t need him, but immediately made room for him in her life that he found so wonderful. 

“I do love you, tiny beauty.” He told her, before they sunk into the kind of kiss that equalled the removal of clothes. 


	24. Chapter 24

“I’m not disturbing that, no bloody chance! I know better than to disturb him. He won’t shout at you, you do it!” Jaskier told Daida as they hovered outside Arelle’s tent, the sounds of her receiving a sexual annihilation from within of course, very audible.

“What are you two mincing around over there for?” Davrin then asked as he approached, looking amused when he heard what they did, shaking his head.

“We’re just deciding who’s going to disturb the fact that currently, Geralt is balls deep in your sister and we have a meeting to attend,” Daida replied, making Davrin laugh.

“Arelle! Hurry up and cum. We’ve got a meeting,” he shouted. “There, done.” He then said to an entertained looking Daida and Jaskier before walking away.

“You sprites, you’re very…” he trailed off, attempting to choose the right word.

“Unprudish and blunt? Absolutely! You humans get too hung up on decency.” Walking away, Jaskier stood there quietly laughing for a few moments, forgetting until the sound of Arelle screaming suddenly drove him away quickly. Meanwhile, back in the tent…

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, ahhhh!” Arelle cried out, her hands gripping one of the bed posts as Geralt pounded her cunt savagely from behind. “I don’t care about any bloody meeting, don’t you dare stop!” She then growled, absolutely out of her mind with pleasure.

“You have me mistaken for a lesser man if you think I’m about to cease fucking you, my love.” His love. That was the first time he’d referred to her as that, making her heart somersault in her chest as he continued the onslaught from his cock, her wetness so great that it coated her thighs, his balls, dripping onto the bedclothes as lewd squelching noises permeated the air.

He had her hair wrapped around his fist, her head pulled back hard as the other smacked her bum, leaving red hand prints behind. Slowing for just a few moments to dampen the fire in his groin, his need to fill her with cum, he reached beneath her and stroked her clit before taking his wetted middle finger and pushing it against the puckered muscle of her anus.

As it slid in, she made a noise more animal than sprite, a low, utterly bliss soaked moan, her nails scratching across the wood of the bedpost. A second finger was added, fucking her with them in time with his cock in her pussy, the third then added being the catalyst to an orgasm that wrecked her trembling body.

“If I’d have known you were partial to this, I would have done it much sooner,” he told her, filling and emptying her a little more rapidly again, giving her no recovery from her undoing.

“If you don’t put your cock where your fingers are I shall lose my mind!” she demanded, still catching her breath. Geralt raised an eyebrow so high it virtually vanished into his hairline at hearing this. No woman had ever been brave enough to take him anally before, his cock was so humongous.

“Are you certain?” he checked.

“I require a bottle of almond oil,” she firstly spoke, holding out her hand and having the tent deliver just what she needed. “Here, douse your cock and fuck me.” He nearly came on the spot, being told such. Taking the bottle from her he did as requested, removing his fingers after bathing himself in plenty of oil and pushing against her for entrance.

He did so very cautiously, mindful that it was likely to hurt her greatly, taking something so thick. She made a few noises of displeasure but urged him to continue, feeling him slide around halfway in before he slowly retreated again. For Arelle, it was utterly magnificent even though it hurt her to begin with, feeling something so thick imbedded in her backside.

For Geralt, it was tightness incomparable, taking him everything he had not to cum as quickly as the fire burning in the pit of his loins decreed he probably should. He kept going steadily, not ever entering her with more than half of his length (any more would have been too much for her to take) and slowly, little by little, speeding up.

His hand slipped beneath her body once more, fingers rubbing her clit as his other hand grasped her shoulder, her breathless loans making his cock jerk. With oily constriction wrapped snugly around him, his lady making more noise than he’d ever known her to as well, it was a constant battle not to give in to the pleasure. This was especially so when her hot body shook and tensed, her second orgasm rolling over her strongly.

He was so overcome by it, he almost felt light headed, a little drunk on her and what she was letting him do. Little shooting shockwaves ran up and down his cock, sensations unlike anything he’d ever felt as he groaned in abandon, still holding back. That was, until Arelle made it okay for him not to.

“When you cum, I want you to take your cock out and shoot it all over my back.” That was exactly what he did too after a final few furious thrusts, a guttural groan leaving his mouth as he covered her spine in hot ejaculate. His head swam, feeling like he was far away as he lay down and pulled her close, kissing her shoulder as he fought to regain his breath.

Their morning of unbridled passion had to come to a close at that point, both washing and dressing again before going in search of the meeting they’d been told about. A few felled logs had been assembled in the way of seating, the meeting only extending to the few hundred sprites, elves and humans who travelled in their particular group, the rest of the army all similar sequestered too.

It had been called by fae elders, the two whom were waiting for Geralt and Arelle not looking impressed by their lateness. This descended even less when a lack of room meant the former pulled the latter down onto his lap when he sat, giving them a challenging look that dared them to make a bigoted comment about a sprite not being with one of her own kind. Needless to say, neither bothered.

“You may be wondering why we have gathered our assembled travelling groups together,” The elder of the two sprites began as he walked forward. “We, the elders have been in discussion over our battle strategies moving forward as an army. We need more structure, more formation to combat the awful losses we are suffering. Make no mistake, friends, we might be successful in defeating each wave of Vulc we encounter, but it is not without great personal loss which could be avoided.”

He then began to explain the plants to implement battle plans, using the information brought back to them via the scouts and fight in better formation. Also, the use of generals to lead and advise the troops was to be put into place, a list of names being called out.

“You too, latecomer. I apologise, I do not yet know your name.” He then said, pointing in Geralt’s direction. Well, that was who Arelle thought he was pointing at as she looked at him.

“He’s referring to you,” he told her, Arelle looking stunned.

“What?” she said sharply, her head spinning fast to look back at the elder.

“You’re quick witted in battle, have the ability to make snap decisions that lead to the benefit of others and you’re strong. You’re what we need, you’re a general. There’ll be no arguments.” He told her sternly, Arelle just sitting there looking gobsmacked.

It was a surprise that lasted too, well into the evening as her little group sat together, Jaskier making everyone laugh by waving her hand in front of her face to absolutely no reaction. She didn’t even blink.

“She’s gone,” he announced, Geralt pinching her side and making her sit up suddenly with a squeak.

“That’s how it’s done,” he said, taking a swig of ale. “You look as if you’re in some kind of trance, still. Surely this has sunk in by now, your new status.”

“No, it truly has not. Why me? Why not someone else? I don’t really want such a responsibility,” she spoke in exasperated tones, sighing. Arelle truly did not like the idea of such, the attention and responsibility that would come hand in hand with it.

“You should be honoured to have been appointed such a position,” Geralt told her, Daida nodding next to him.

“Would you be?” she challenged.

“No, but I’m a nomad. In this war I am mere sword for hire. The northern army is your army though, as a woman of the north. This is why it should be an honour for you to have been chosen as a general of it,” he put to her, squeezing her arm.

“I don’t even know how to be a general!” she exclaimed, looking bewildered. “I am honoured, I do not want anyone to think that I’m not, but I just don’t want to mess it up.”

“We will learn together, my friend.” Daida told her. She had also been appointed the same, the elders thinking it wise that there should be at least one of the mages within the higher ranks. Still though, Arelle found the news extremely hard to adjust to, pacing the tent later that night.

“You’re wearing a trench in the floor,” Geralt told her, reaching for her arm.

“I’m nervous!” she declared, beginning to chew her thumb. “This is something I didn’t expect, nor did I want. It’s a lot of responsibility.”

“Which you shall cope just fine with. You’re much more capable than you often think yourself to be, Arelle. Meet this new challenge with your usual pragmatism, don’t expect to be perfect right away and you shall see. It’ll be fine,” he assured her, Arelle sighing as she stroked his shoulders.

“You have unshakable faith in me, don’t you?” He nodded in confirmation. “I’m glad of this.”

Allowing herself to be pulled back into his arms onto the bed, Arelle forgot her troubles for that moment, blissfully unaware that the politics surrounding her role of being a general would not come easily to her at all.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to my readers for your continued interest.

“So, what do you think? Is he a wise choice?” Arelle asked as Geralt checked over the large, black gelding in front of them.

As a general, her place was now at the front of the line leading the rest of the army, the elders advising her she might want to look into purchasing a steed. She was lucky that her well-travelled witcher knew of a good horse market in Belhaven, their current location.

“Yes, good legs, sturdy hooves, he moves nicely too. You are going to look like a pea sat atop a mountain though, with you barely reaching five feet tall when he’s sixteen hands high.” he spoke, smirking a little as she elbowed him playfully.

Her decision was made, having him fitted with a bridle and saddle before coins were exchanged and she jumped onto his back. While there, a lot of other fae people were making the same purchase, weary from the marches and seeing horses as wise investments at this stage. Her heart went out to those who couldn’t afford them though. She would have been one of those people, had her father not given a pouch of gold to her prior to her departure, wanting his children to have some coins for whatever they should need along their journey.

“You look less daunted by the idea of your new role as the days pass by,” Geralt observed, riding with her at the front.

“He shouldn’t be at the front, Arelle,” Kydrin, one of the elf generals told her, turning in the saddle to view her with slight distaste.

“Kydrin, don’t let your newfound power go to your head. If I want to ride beside my man, I shall. I don’t use my prerogative as a general to assert that either. I just won’t be told what the fuck to do,” she replied, shrugging. “Yes, definitely less daunted.” She then told Geralt, who laughed quietly.

“Is something amusing, witcher?” Kydrin then snapped, Geralt taking his outburst in his stride.

“Your prejudice is showing. You take no issue with non-generals riding at the front, or perhaps you would have mentioned something about Florie riding beside Daida also. No, Kydrin, your issue lies with me over what I am, not who I am or where I ride.” He spoke evenly, Kydrin’s face darkening.

The elf had no comeback for that, for it was the blatant truth. He didn’t like witchers, making up a small number of the fae folk who viewed them with the same distaste and persecution as a great percentage of the human population.

For this, he didn’t make things easy for Arelle when the six generals of their portion of the northern army met with their scouts later that day. In fact, nothing coming her way was about to be easy for her to deal with.

“I disagree. If we encircle them we’ll be trampled. The Vulc won’t be intimidated by such an action, it was foolish of you to even suggest such,” Kydrin said, rebuffing her strategy of a surrounded attack.

“I didn’t say anything about encircling them, Kydrin. Our scouts estimate they’ll be coming through the Caed Myrkvid forest at roughly this time tomorrow. If we sent half our troops on ahead to lay in wait up in the trees, we can pen them in. Our army will be both upon the front line and behind them. That’s not encirclement, that’s an ambush,” she pointed out, a couple of others nodding in agreement.

“She’s right; it’ll trap them between us. From what we’ve been witnessing, they’re not the most intellectually astute creatures. Apart from them going after witchers, which is something they’ve obviously been told to do by their overlord. I don’t think independent comprehension is something they particularly grasp well,” Daida stated, standing up for her friend.

“Deluded ideas from silly women,” he stated, shaking his head.

“So you’re a sexist pig as well as a prejudiced little twit?” Arelle challenged him. She hadn’t forgotten about his remarks toward Geralt, nor was the likely to. She couldn’t abide small minded persecution.

“Well, I’m not a woman and I agree with them,” Hanbi, a pixie general then put forward, nodding to Arelle and Daida. “Encirclement would lead to us being trampled, this much is true. Our attack coming from both the front and the rear in a line formation though, such a move is clever.

“May I suggest something a little cleverer though? Have the troops lying in wait in the trees remain just there, in the trees. Then, you see, we can hit them with a hail of arrows. We haven’t been using the archers to our advantage in any kind of proper formation thus far throughout the war, and we should be!” he enthused, everyone nodding. Even Kydrin looked more agreeable. Still though, he looked thunderous as he exited the general’s meeting tent, passing an amused looking Geralt on his way.

“What did you say to annoy him this time?” he asked, Arelle looking innocent. “That face does not work on someone who knows you as well as I do either.” He then added, making her laugh quietly.

“Honestly, nothing. Well, I did accuse him of being a sexist pig as well as prejudiced after he’d denounced one of my ideas as a delusion from silly women,” she replied.

“The women part is because I backed her up. I might perhaps be biased, but I wasn’t the only one who considered attacking the oncoming Vulc from both front and behind to be a good idea. Hanbi then added the genius suggestion that the attack from behind should come from archers within the trees, sitting in wait for them to emerge from the Caed Myrkvid forest and meet our forces,” Daida then embellished with, draping her arm around Arelle.

“Personally, I’ve never quite grasped why women should ever be seen as inferior, especially where intellect is concerned. You’re often much more cunning than we,” Geralt spoke, making the two women before him smile in acknowledgement of such praise.

“Fucking elves. They’re the most superiority complex riddled people of all the fae folk. He’d never want to admit to be wrong either, because in short, Geralt, he is a complete twat.” Hanbi then said, the tiny man ambling away while whistling cheerfully.

In this particular instance, Arelle’s ideas were agreed with. However, when a time came a few weeks and a few hundred miles north east when they weren’t, she didn’t cope well with it.

“Why are you stamping and searching angrily?” Geralt asked, after she’d torn a path into their tent and flung open the large chest where she kept things for Storm, her horse.

“I’m annoyed!” she fumed, locating his brush and heading back out of the tent once more, Geralt arching an eyebrow in curiosity before he got up to follow her.

“I got the general gist of such. What, pray tell, are you actually annoyed about?” He questioned, stroking Storm’s muzzle as she groomed him with vigour.

“I don’t feel like I’ve been listened to over the last few meetings between the generals, even less so this time!” she fumed, moving Storm’s mane to brush his solid neck beneath. He was just about to ask for specifics when she continued. “I proposed that we lie in wait for them at the foot of the mountains close to the pass, much like we did back in Caed Myrkvid forest. That attack worked so well for us but no, this time I was dismissed by everyone and told it wouldn’t work!”

“Well, it wouldn’t. Mountains are not trees, Arelle. Lying in wait on something that isn’t easily passable such as the foot of a mountain range means your army runs the risk of becoming trapped against it. It would be vastly different if every fighter was of your kind, but humans are not as nimble as fae folk. I think you forget this sometimes,” he explained, Arelle eyeing him a little sharply.

“I think I know the real cause of your fury, my love. Underneath, you know you’re wrong. Admitting such is something you often struggle with since you detest being wrong. I’m aware I’m likely to get my head bitten off for pointing this out, but if you’re going to become a successful general then listening to others and admitting when you are not right is an integral part of such.”

He could see her becoming more tightly wound with every word he spoke, but truly, she needed to hear what he had to say. What nibbled away at Arelle’s pride the most was the fact she couldn’t bite his head off, no matter how irritated she was. He was right.

“I’m being childish, aren’t I?” she asked, after furiously chewing the side of her cheek for a few moments. He nodded in confirmation.

“I’m afraid so,” he told her.

“Thank you for always being honest with me, even when it isn’t something I want to hear. You help me grow, something I think I need, especially now.” He smiled, moving to wrap his arms around her, kissing her head.

“You’re a young woman still, being thrown into the kind of situations that are undoubtedly difficult. They will be a test of your maturity, or lack thereof, as it were. You’ll come through it all much stronger than you presently are though.” He reassured her with, Arelle nodding before pulling him down to her level for a proper kiss.

She seemed to be pacified for that moment, but was once again furious the following day after a verbal altercation with Kydrin, the pair having a very strong mutual dislike of each other that didn’t seem to be diluting any at all.

“I listened to him, I truly did, but that fucking elf just cannot cease in attempting to get a rise out of me! It’s maddening, I’m usually so calm but lately I feel far from it,” Arelle said after coming back into the tent after a very early meeting. So early, Geralt was still in bed, a place she re-joined him since they weren’t about to move off just yet.

“Then allow me to take your mind off him.” Pulling the blanket off them, he moved to leave a trail of kisses from her mouth, slowly down between her breasts, circling her navel with his tongue before his mouth settle right on her…

“Mmmm, yes, you can definitely distract me like that.” She sighed, feeling a hot, wet tongue start to roll across her clit.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking forward to your thoughts, as ever.

As Arelle lay there, her skin warm from the summer sun shining directly onto the tent, her fingers laced through Geralt’s hair as her abdomen rippled with little trembles, the pleasure she felt was incredible. 

What his mouth conjured while buried at the apex of her thighs was nothing short of masterful, his tongue sliding up her wet slit, circling her clit and then rolling down again to dip into her burning centre. Her shaking intensified, her breathing becoming rapid as her little moans grew in pitch, Geralt knowing she was getting close but not quite wanting to tip her over the edge just yet.

He paused, letting her cool down a little, moving his mouth to kiss her stomach, her breasts, letting her taste herself on his lips as he groaned into her mouth, powerful hands gliding down her sides before his mouth descended once more.

He began to lay flat licks against her clit, holding the hood back with his thumb so every last bit of the sensitive little bud was exposed to him and his exceedingly talented tongue. She wriggled against his mouth, gasping softly, her hands moving to grasp her breasts as she rested her feet up on his thick shoulders.

A stream of expletives left her mouth, her back arching off the bed when he opened his mouth widely to suck at her entire cunt, the tingles of pleasure giving way to a dull throb inside her, dying to feel his hardness sating it. Her need was somewhat gratified by two fingers entering her with ease, curling around and burrowing into her slick heat. 

“I needn’t move my mouth at all, with how much you’re writhing. I should just stick my tongue out and let you finish yourself off,” he told her, amused. He loved how he got her so illimitably aroused.

“No! Don’t you stop!” she exclaimed through each ragged breath, making him laugh.

“Never, love.” Going back to flicking his tongue in a hard, fast beat over her clit, he had every intention of continuing until she was delirious with her impending orgasm, but did end up stopping again, out of sheer surprise alone at a scent that suddenly started to drift under his nose. Suddenly he could smell the faint aroma of lilac and gooseberries, the scent steadily becoming stronger. 

“What’s the matter? You’ve gone on high alert,” Arelle asked after his head emerged from between her legs. 

“Yen is somewhere close by, I can smell her,” he confessed, feeling awkward.

“Oh,” she replied, nodding and not really knowing what else to say.

“Whatever she wants is of no importance to me at this moment.” He stated, sliding back up her body to sink his hardness inside her. There was no way he wanted Arelle to mistake his surprise of sensing his ex suddenly appear somewhere within their vicinity for an eagerness to go and see her. No. She was his lady; his attention was unquestionably given to her first. 

‘Realise I’m otherwise engaged and fucking go away, Yen.’ He thought as he began to thrust into Arelle deeply, groaning into their kiss as he sensed her right outside the tent. Once she likely realised what was going on within it, her scent faded, the mage walking away and allowing him to be able to focus on exactly who he wanted to without interruption; the beautiful sprite he was inside of. 

“I love you.” He groaned into her ear, biting the lobe as he felt her legs wrap around his waist, her nails grazing down his back as she cried out, his cock hitting her deeply. She murmured the same sentiment in return, kissing him madly, thinking how strange it was that his ex had turned up out of the blue. 

Not being the jealous or anxious type, she cast it out of her mind quickly and instead enjoyed the sexual annihilation her lover bestowed upon her, his hands running underneath her, gripping her ass as he plunged into her molten cunt, mouth all over her breasts as her body arched into his. 

Resting his weight on his forearms, he quickened the pace as her hands stroked his chest, their kisses wild and urgent as they moaned in bliss. Arelle found herself almost propelled across the bed from the force of his thrusts, bracing her arms back against the carved wood headboard. 

He then suddenly turned her over, smacked her rounded bum until she squealed in delight and then re-entered her from behind, yanking her hips up and holding them firmly as his body battered against hers in utter abandon. 

Her fingers flexed and curled around one of the pillows, wailing in ecstasy, one hand reaching back between her legs to stroke his hardness as it fucked her with all-consuming vigour. With her palm providing the perfect stimulation against her clit she came with a shrill cry, the guttural grunts of her witcher signalling his reaching of the same state a few moments after her, both overcome completely as they fought for breath.

“So why do you think she’s arrived at our camp? Might she be bringing news of the war, or is she here for you?” Arelle asked as Geralt pulled on his boots after they’d dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her close to kiss her bare stomach. 

She was wearing a pair of dark brown leather trousers which were skin tight and a dark olive sweater with long sleeves which exposed her toned midriff. She looked so sexy he almost didn’t want to leave the tent for that reason alone. Whereas most women dressed quite modestly, sprites had no qualms about showing some skin. He always enjoyed it when she did. 

“I doubt she’s here because of me. The last time I saw her I made it clear that what we once were is very much in the past, despite what occurred. You needn’t be concerned over that though. Even if she was, you know where my heart is. It belongs to the woman with the most luminous green eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” he told her, Arelle stroking his face with her thumbs as she beamed at him, leaning down and kissing him. 

“I’m never in any doubt of your devotion to me, my darling,” she began, resting her forehead to his. “I just suddenly feel a little possessive, but certainly not anxious.” They left the tent in search of Yen, Arelle telling Geralt she would catch him up after one of the pixies asked to speak to her for a few moments. 

He walked through the camp, being able to smell his way to her, finding her standing alone, watching the horses graze in a makeshift paddock that had been set up. 

“Hello, Yen,” he greeted her with, arriving at her side. 

“Thank you for not keeping me waiting for too long, I realise you were otherwise occupied with the woman I assume to be Arelle when I arrived,” she replied, staring straight ahead. 

He couldn’t quite read her tone, Yen not sounding like she was suffering any envy at realising he was now obviously with the woman he’d once likened to a force he didn’t realise he’d have to reckon with, the woman whose name he’d spoken in his sleep while he was in her company. However, she didn’t sound thrilled by the idea of her either. 

“Yes,” he confirmed simply, knowing he did not need to embellish anything there. “So, what brings you to the camp of this particular branch of the northern army?” 

“I bring news of the war, the fight in Nilfgaard to be exact. Is there someone around whom I may converse with, someone of a high rank within the army?” she asked, Geralt turning to look over his shoulder and see Arelle approaching. He didn’t feel comfortable at all, that his last love and current one were about to meet. He wasn’t used to being in such situations, never being in one before.

“Yes, she’s approaching.” Yen knew from the way he looked at her that the small sprite walking towards them was Arelle, studying her carefully and just for a few moments, letting envy stir within her. 

His new love was very attractive, although she’d always found sprites quite peculiar looking with their tiny bodies and huge eyes. She was now the preferred choice of her former lover though, something she admitted to herself she found a little tough to accept. 

“You must be Yennefer,” she spoke, offering her hand.

“And you Arelle. I’m told you’re of high rank within the northern army,” Yen replied, shaking it as she still continued to view her a little coolly. Arelle naturally picked up on such, expecting it if she was honest. 

“That I am. How can I help you?” In turn, Arelle took in all that Yennefer was aesthetically too, feeling a little inferior in the presence of someone so stunning, but solid in the knowledge that she was the one Geralt wanted to be with now. His hand discreetly resting on her lower back only reassured this further, a sentiment she wanted to turn around and kiss him for, that he further showed her without words that he was hers and hers alone. 

“I bring news from Nilfgaard regarding the other half of your forces. I’m afraid it is not good.” Yen spoke, Arelle realising that this probably needed to be heard by the other five generals too. Once she had rounded them up, they headed to the general’s meeting tent where Yen introduced herself before delivering her news. 

“The forces of the northern army sent to assist the Nilfgaardian tropps have fallen, I’m sorry to say. They fell to Nilfgaard, who it appears are now in league with Mardryk. Not a soul is left alive; the call for assistance was in fact a call to ambush. 

“I am unsure how many left out of the first wave of the northern army remain, as far as I’m aware they continue back to the north in an attempt to reclaim it, but your troops are all that’s left of the second wave. I also would not safely bet that this treachery isn’t likely to be isolated. 

“Other mages across the royal courts have told me Mardryk has attempted to infiltrate their Kingdoms by way of negotiation. With the way many feel about the actions of Kesrin prior to her demise, I could not safely say that more might not turn against the people of the north, if given enough incentive to do so. 

“It is dire enough that an empire the size of Nilfgard has decided to turn their back on the rest of the Continent, anything further would most definitely lead to our loss against Mardryk.”

Whatever Arelle had expected to hear from Yennefer, this wasn’t it. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been MIA for a few days, guys. My life is incredibly busy at present and I can't always get to a PC or laptop to post! Looking forward to your thoughts.

“I do not understand why they would turn their backs upon us. What could they possibly gain? The Nilfgaardian Empire is so vast, why should they not be content with what they have? I can only assume Mardryk has offered them land or wealth in exchange for their fealty to him. They have both in fucking abundance!” Daida exclaimed upon the news brought to them by the violet eyed mage.

“It is impossible to say, Daida. Greed comes in many forms, this much I have learned and learned again in my life thus far,” Yen commented, the sprite nodding in agreement as they exchanged knowing looks. 

“I propose we march north once more to defend our territory. It would be utter madness to continue to march our troops across the Continent in light of what we have learned. We need to steer clear of Nilfgaard. I shudder to think the number of troops within their armies,” Kydrin stated, Arelle actually in complete agreement with him for once.

“You’re right, it serves as utterly pointless. We must defend our lands and let the fight come to us rather than chasing it. After what Yennefer has brought to us, it would be a suicide mission to continue south. We must return to the north and regroup, warn as many as we can regarding the turn in tides over Nilfgaard too. It will take many to fight against them,” she replied, all the others nodding in agreement. 

“Yes, we should spread the word as we travel home. We were sent south on a promise by a duplicitous queen who had no regard for our safety, it being merely a smoke and mirrors effort to appear as though she were on the opposing side to Mardryk. The north is where we need to be, on this I unquestionably concur. Yennefer, we appreciate your counsel greatly. Thank you for bringing this to us.” Daida then offered, Yen nodding in acknowledgment.

Leaving the tent, the generals all dispersed in order to relay the news that the army was to return home, apart from Arelle who ran back to her tent, returning with Storm’s bridle before whistling for him. 

“He needs a good gallop. I can kill two birds with one stone,” she explained, Geralt nodding just as the big horse came to a stop in front of them, accepting his bridle obediently. 

“He’s a stunning beast. A little big for you though, Arelle,” Yen commented, patting his neck with an amused smile as she watched the sprite bounce onto his back. 

“I am partial to things perhaps a little too large for me.” She replied, winking at Geralt before she rode off, leaving him laughing. Yen didn’t find her words so funny.

“That wasn’t meant to provoke you. It’s a joke we share, about her having a penchant for things that make her look even tinier than she is. Her bed, her armchair, her horse, her…me,” he explained to Yen’s sour face. She felt a little embarrassed that a lingering thread of envy had prevented her from seeing such, remaining quiet for a few moments.

“Forgive me, but I must ask. Why her? Why her and not me?” she then questioned, Geralt taken by surprise at the little moment of weakness she was revealing. 

“Yen, we were long over before I even met Arelle,” he began, reaching out to stroke her arm. “As for why her, it’s because she’s uncomplicated. You and I, it was too much for me, too suffocating. With her, I can breathe. I can just be with her; she has no expectations from me other than my fidelity and she makes no demands of me either. There are other reasons too, but I doubt you’d wish to hear them,” he explained for her. 

“I understand. I knew I’d lost you a long time ago. I do not know why I wished to torture myself by having it explained to me why in as many words. I suppose you are still my weakness. I am glad that she makes you happy though. I see it in you, there’s something her love lights up within,” she replied with courage, feeling a little sad. Seeing for herself the way he looked at Arelle, she was reminded of the time he used to give her such adoring glances too. 

That time was gone through; this she accepted more in that moment than before when she’d encountered him in the north. It was seeing him around Arelle that had sealed it for her. His heart truly was with another now.

“She does. I didn’t expect to feel again what I did for you, but I do,” he confided, Yen nodding. 

“No, that’s incorrect. Your love for her by far eclipses the love you once had for me. I see it and I accept it too. I do sincerely hope you remain as content as you are.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek, giving him a smile that indicated she was okay. 

She didn’t stay for much longer, telling him she’d return if she had any further important news, leaving just as Arelle and the other generals arrived back, being thanked by them all once more before she stepped into the portal. 

They were on their way again by the early afternoon, starting back to the north, each person separately wondering what they would encounter along the way and also, what they were returning back to, exactly. Everyone was weary, even though for the most part luck had been on their side; this war had been waged for almost six months and still showed no signs of cease. 

Finding enough food to feed an army of three and a half thousand was never easy, most people now used to remaining hungry on two very meagre meals a day, sometimes one. It wasn’t an ideal situation for fighting troops to be in. Along their return though, they did find circumstances becoming a little easier. 

With the Vulc they’d met on the way down the Continent already slain, they met very few obstacles of that ilk on the way back, keeping away from the capital cities for obvious reasons.

If there was trouble, they wanted no part of actively seeking it out as they had been, cruel as that might’ve sounded to their fellow countrymen. They’d relay the message of the Nilfgaardian Empire’s turning of loyalties, but that was it. Now the north looked out for themselves first. 

During their travelling, Arelle found herself growing nothing but closer to Geralt, their first few months together not developing under the easiest of circumstances. She often thought this is what forged them to be as close as they’d become though.

“You’re beginning to look a little like me,” he told her one night in bed, running his hand over a wound running up her back. It was from a recent battle, healed with Daida’s magic but still a little pink along with the other two which ran close to it. 

She’d escaped major injury against much more considerable numbers of Vulc, but after taking on a smaller group of them after they’d entered Dravograd, she’d made a silly mistake which lead to receiving a set of claws under her chain mail vest. The pain had been indescribable, the creature receiving her sword straight to the gut for his trouble.

“I see this, yes. Every scar will tell a story. I like that we match too, your Vulc wound is more or less in the same place. I just hope you still find me beautiful now that my nice, smooth body has been somewhat desecrated by the spoils of war,” she told him, Geralt frowning. 

“Of course I do, my love. Why wouldn’t I? You state that I am the most handsome man who ever lived and look at me. I resemble a jigsaw puzzle,” he stated, making her giggle. “A few scars could never diminish such exquisite beauty.”

She beamed at him with the smile that always made him feel lit up inside, moving to lie in his arms and bask in his affection as she stroked his nakedness. Her only wish in that moment was that this was happening at home. Such would mean the war would be over, there’d be no battles left to fight and life would be quiet once more. 

“You look very contemplative,” he commented, stroking her forearm idly. 

“I’m just imagining us being at home in our cottage, the war done with and peace restored. That is, if we’re lucky enough for such to be our fate,” she replied, kissing his chest.

“I enjoy your use of the word ‘our’ when referring to the cottage,” he began, noting that it was the first time he’d heard her refer to her home as theirs. “As for what is fated, we will fight hard in order for such to come to pass. The peace you speak of is plenty incentive to tackle this war with much might in the months to come.” 

Much might was exactly what was required too, for the further north they headed over the months that followed, the further Vulc they encountered. Also, their scouts reported that the Nilfgaardian army was only weeks behind them, closing in with a huge number of Vulc. 

“They’ve been tracking us to here, I think their aim is to attempt to round us up for one final battle, pen us in as the forces from the north further advance to meet us,” one of them explained to the assembled generals after returning from a scouting expedition. 

“I’m inclined to agree with you. From the pattern of how we’re being told they’re driving the other half of our army back down from the far north, it appears that this is our plan,” Hanbi sighed, looking at the map of the Continent on the table before them. “What sort of numbers are we looking at?”

“At an estimate, I’d say thirty thousand in the Nilfgaardian army, along with ten thousand Vulc,” the scout replied, everyone groaning and shaking their heads.

“Seven goddesses,” Arelle exclaimed, feeling a cold sense of dread creep over her. With no idea how many of the first wave of the northern army remained, or how many Vulc were pushing them back from the far north, they had no idea what they were dealing with. It was a frightening position to be in. Either way though, they were severely outnumbered. The might of Nilfgaard alone could crush them.

“We will find a way. I think we perhaps have to broach reaching out to the humans in an attempt to recruit more men. The mage Yennefer might be of assistance if she can tell us which courts have been unsuccessfully approached by Mardryk. 

“What I wish the most is that he would reveal himself. If we could kill him, we might have a shot at winning this war once and for all.” Kydrin spoke, actually putting his dislike of Arelle aside for a few moments and addressing her more than the others. 

Whatever the answer was to their current predicament, the generals of the northern army knew they had to fine one quickly. It was no underestimation; death was coming for them, in greater numbers than theirs.


	28. Chapter 28

“There’ll be roughly twenty thousand of us once our army merges against forty-five thousand plus of them. How the fuck do we even stand up to that number? We’re doomed, absolutely doomed.” Arelle spoke as she flopped down by the fire with her small group, looking bewildered and lost. 

The generals had just heard back from the scouts they’d sent further north to get in touch with the first wave of their army, who were now on their way to Vespaden, where the remaining second wave of the northern army were camped. They’d also sent two south to assess the Nilfgaard situation. It wasn’t good. 

It would be a total of eleven thousand of them, plus eight thousand men pledged by King Henselt of Kaedwen. Queen Calanthe of Cintra had also very generously sent ten thousand of her men north, but it was anyone’s guess whether they’d make the journey in time. Even if they marched with little rest, it would take at least six weeks for them to arrive in Vespaden. They would still be outnumbered as well. 

The estimate from the first wave over the number of Vulc descending from the far north was only that too, just an estimate as their scouts had been instructed not to put themselves at risk. Also, the goddesses only knew just how many of them were coming through the open borders of the Grey Mountains and surrounding areas, which had fallen completely, of course.

“We’re not doomed. We’re still awaiting word back from the other rulers who we’ve reached out to, are we not? We can’t discount that they might send troops to our aid,” Axrin commented, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He quickly removed it when Geralt sat down at her side though.

“I agree with Axrin. We need to be patient and hope that we can raise a few more thousand fighters. If however we cannot, then it’ll be up to you generals to formulate a battle plan that will maximise our chances in the face of being outnumbered.” He told her, taking her hand and giving it a supportive squeeze. 

She moved to sit between his legs, resting her head back on his chest and sighing as she felt his arms wrap around her. It was a trying time, being in her position, making decisions that would ultimately lead to the life or death or thousands. It was exhausting her. 

Everyone around the fire all spoke reassuringly, but secretly all knew underneath that their chances of getting through this alive and defeating the dark forces was slim. If anything, their words were to reassure themselves in an attempt to believe they could win when in fact, they likely wouldn’t. 

It was the reality of the situation, but not one single fighter within the northern army was prepared to give up. They would not roll over and make a defeat easy. They would fight Mardryk and his Vulc army until the bitter end, outnumbered or not. Such a fate only became realer as the days went on, as they heard back from different Kingdoms whom they had called on for assistance.

“We had several falcons return to us this morning, all carrying messages. Sadly, not many brought helpful news. While it is reassuring that only Nilfgaard have been enticed to join in arms with Mardryk, many other Kingdoms simply do not want to spare their men at a time like this. They want to protect their territories.

“Still, Vengeberg have pledged a thousand warriors, Mount Carbon two thousand. It is little in what we truly need to have the advantage but not to be sniffed at by any means. The rest of our army are now at Buina Pass, so will meet us here in the next few days. A thousand men from Hengfors also march with them. 

“Unfortunately, we do not have time to move a little further south. Our enemies’ intention was always to trap us against the Dragon Mountains, but we will fight back against such,” Daida explained at length, the other generals sighing. Three thousand extra fighters only brought their total up to twenty-three thousand, that number gaining a further ten thousand if the Lionesses’ army reached them in time.

It just wasn’t enough, not against a force like the Vulc. It then suddenly struck Arelle that they hadn’t accounted for the forces of Nilfgaard. 

“Nilfgaard will add a further on top of what we’ve already counted, by tens of thousands. likely. This is hopeless. If you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to go and enjoy the last bit of life I have left.” The others were somewhat taken aback by the cool sprite’s rather emotional response, Arelle tearing a path out of the tent and heading back to her own. 

“Not that I’m complaining at the sudden onslaught of a half-dressed woman, but I thought you had a meeting?” Geralt asked after Arelle had advanced on him, pulled off her sweater and sat astride him. 

“I did. It’s over and we’re all likely going to perish, so I want to enjoy life for as long as I actually have one.” He could have stopped her to talk about her fears, whatever it was in the meeting which had prompted this, but who was he to attempt to halt his lady when she was obviously in an unstoppably lustful mood? 

His hands ran down her bare back, enjoying the feel of her skin before he grasped her buttocks, pulling her against him as he lay back on the bed. Her hand slid between them, squeezing the erection tenting the front of his trousers before she began to unfasten the buttons.

She sat back up to remove them, her trousers following, pushing him back to the bed forcefully when he moved to sit up a little. He laughed deeply, allowing her to have her way with him, shuddering when her elegant fingertips danced across his abs. 

They shared hungry kisses as their hands explored a little teasingly as first, her hand then wrapping around his hardness and squeezing it while he played with her breasts. One hand curled around her neck and gently stroked her throat while the other then moved between her legs, teasing her slit before his fingers pushed inside her. 

Her sumptuous wetness bathed them as she gently bit his lip in response, a shaky breath leaving her mouth as she stared down into his beautiful eyes, falling into another kiss. It was at that point something stirred within her, the usual fire he ignited mixed with a determination she’d been lacking until that moment.

“What?” he asked at the suddenly very intense way she was staring at him.

“Forget what I said. I’m not going to die any time soon and neither are you. Overwhelming enemy be fucking damned, I’d fight them all by myself in order to be with you for many years to come. Our time isn’t over yet, it’s only just begun.” Moving from his hand she then guided his cock inside her, rolling her hips to take him deeper as she kissed him with blinding passion. 

His arms wrapped around her tightly, fingers flexing at her back as their bodies slid together in heated unison, Arelle loving the feeling of his chest hair tickling her nipples as she moved her mouth to his neck. Sitting up she stroked his chest and moaned with gratification when she sank down to take his full length within her, loving the feel of him stretching her tightness thoroughly. 

She began to gyrate her hips in a firm, yet slow roll against him, making him groan deeply as he stared up at her, his eyes conveying all the overwhelming desire he felt for her. Starting to move up and down on him a little faster, she felt little shockwaves of pleasure jolt through her, hands linking with his as she squeezed her inner muscles around him. 

He bit his lip hard and closed his eyes tightly in appreciation of such, a rumbling exclamation of pleasure from somewhere deep in his chest making her insides burn as she heard it, her stomach flipping wildly. ‘Seven goddesses, he’s so sexy’ she thought to herself, crying out when he grasped her hips and began to thrust up into her deeply. 

She writhed against him in total abandon, little purrs of pleasure spurring him on more until he couldn’t stand to be trapped under her a moment longer. His need to dominate her was too strong. Picking her up, he stood and moved so her back was pressed against the bedpost, his powerful hands clutching her thighs as he buried himself within her quivering wetness. 

Grasping his shoulders, Arelle felt her insides burn with ebullience, his cock creating the kind of intense friction that made her moan without reserve, clinging onto him as he began fucking her voraciously. Her body bucked against his, undulating wildly, his mouth moving to kiss and nibble the side of her neck as her nails grazed down his back.

It was hot, raw, primal sex, the type that got them both off the most, everything urgent and heated, their desires spiralling as they moved together with frantic urgency. Her tightness squeezed him, her cunt so wet he feared he might slip out of her. 

Throwing her head back with a scream, she felt pleasure beginning to surge strongly, her heart like thunder in her ears. Reaching up above her head she gripped the bedpost, using it for leverage as she began grinding against him, sending him out of his mind with arousal. 

The culmination of their passions burned ferociously through them, rendering them both a gasping, trembling wreck in the aftermath. 

“We will live for many more years to enjoy that many, many more times,” he told her, setting her down and wrapping her in his arms. It didn’t matter that she’d changed her original stance upon entering the tent, he still felt the need to reassure her. 

“Agreed.” In that moment she believed it too, but as the Vulc advanced and the days towards the final battle passed, Arelle would have been lying if she said she didn’t have her doubts. 


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your continued readership. Looking forward to your thoughts, as ever.

“There they are, just as our scouts said. The first wave is here. This is his mistake, we can take on that number. We can do this!” Arelle said to her brother, returning her small foldable telescope to her pocket and jumping down from her vantage point up in a withered old tree.

The scouts had reported back that Mardryk’s army had split into three, the first wave heading for them now, the second they deduced likely branching off to tackle the oncoming troops from Cintra and the third, they as yet could not account for. A band of scouts were still out searching for them, yet to return to the northern army camp. 

The generals deduced he was likely holding them back for a second wave to hit the troops in the north, or he’d sent them elsewhere. Arelle might have sounded brave in her words, but like she shared with her fellow generals, there had to be a bigger reason for this kind of tactile play. 

She could understand sending a wave of Vulc off to deal with the Cintran fighters, but not why he’d split his army in two once more when he had a much better chance of overbearing them in sheer numbers alone if he’d left them whole. It didn’t make sense to anyone. 

What was important in that moment though was the battle they were about to face. Their enemy was a mixture of Nilfgaardian traitors, Vulc and the re-emergence of the strange spider-like creatures. Arelle, like many others who’d encountered them in the north had wondered when or where they’d show up again. 

Running at top sprite speed back to their army, Arelle and Davrin took their positions, Arelle standing at the front of the block of fighters she commanded over, the six other generals taking the same stance. Looking to where Geralt was stood in the second row behind the archers, she winked before turning back to the battlefield, the thunder of the enemy gaining ground becoming louder. 

“Archers brace!” she called, hearing them move to ready themselves.

“Pull back!” she then commanded, hearing the bows become tense as thousands of arrows were pulled back and held tort. 

“Loose!” she roared at the crucial time, the hail of arrows sailing into the air above her head, hitting the first wave of their enemy, unsheathing her sword before shouting the same command, the second wave effectively hit. “Forward!” Was her next scream, surging towards the enemy with her sword in one hand, her lance in the other. 

The wind rushed by her ears as she ran, the sounds of war cries from thousands of her fellow northerners behind her, kicking up in the air and goring a Vulc with her lance as the two sides clashed. She then spun around and kicked an oncoming man so hard as she propelled back up through the air she broke his neck, descending to take the head of another. 

Gone was the young woman who was unsure of herself, of her place in this army and her capabilities to lead and instead stood a warrior. She was battle seasoned, fast and ruthless. If anything got in her way, it swiftly ended up dead. Geralt could see her out of the corner of his eye as he fought a few yards away, their side thinning out the enemy with bloodthirsty savagery, feeling pride swell within. 

She was amazing, absolutely incredible to watch, this tiny little spire going head to head with creatures that stood two feet taller, who could likely crush her with one blow. She wasn’t afraid though, even when one stopped in front of her and roared its eerie, ear splitting howl right at her, her words and actions were choice.

“Fuck off, you ugly cunt!” she bellowed, thrusting her sword into its gut and slashing it open, throwing her lance at another who attempted to charge her, making Geralt laugh as he threw out a spell at a Nilfgaardian fighter before slaying one of the spider creatures. 

His entertainment through the fight only grew at hearing the men of Nilfgaard foolishly respond to the call of ‘go for the women!’ by a general on their side, watching Arelle’s face darken as she was descended upon. 

Throwing her lance, she gored the first one charging for her on his horse, picking up an abandoned sword she flipped that and hers around to then jump through the air and take the heads of the second and third, the fourth attempting to bludgeon her with his shield. She leaned away in a full back bend to avoid it, swinging her sword out and severing the tendons in his lower leg before bringing her other sword down into his chest. 

On they fought, Arelle having an amused moment of her own after Geralt shouted ‘duck, my love!’ before one of the spider creatures came hurtling over her head, the spite bobbing down before shooting up in the air to land on the shoulders of a Vulc, piercing its brain with her sword. 

Blood splattered, exhausted and triumphant at the end, she jumped into her lover’s arms and kissed him passionately, feeling so alive and full of adrenaline. 

“Wielding two swords at once. Who do you think you are, me?” he asked, smiling wider than she’d ever encountered. 

“No. I have nicer tits,” she replied, making him laugh loudly as he held her tighter, alight with adoration. She really had made him proud in that battle, seeing her embody everything he always knew she would one day become. 

“You indeed do. I plan on giving them a lot of attention later too,” he promised, kissing her again. 

“Later? We have nothing pressing to attend to right now. There’s a river just through the trees where Davrin and I viewed the oncoming army, I propose we go and bathe in it and then fuck on the banks in the sunshine for a while.” A short time later and they were up to their necks in the water, kissing each other madly after washing blood off themselves, enjoying what was becoming a favourite pastime; post-battle sex. 

Landing on the grassy banks with a thud, her man on top of her, they continued to kiss wildly, panting through their noses as their mouths locked together, Arelle biting his lip and thus breaking that contact to cry out when his fingers pushed inside her. 

She kissed and bit his neck ravenously, her nails grazing his vast expanse of back as he began fucking her with his fingers, his hardness bobbing against her hip with impatience. Knowing his need matched hers she reached between them, pushing at his wrist to make him retreat so she could guide his cock within her heat, moaning with satisfaction as he slowly filled her. 

Arching her back off the grass, her hands sliding all over his wet skin, she felt him caress her breasts, licking and sucking her nipples as he growled wantonly, her cunt contracting around him with a strong squeeze as he began to thrust into her, hard and deep. 

He was unrelenting and untamed with her, the stillness of the air in their idyllic surroundings cut by the sounds of their sex, utterly carnivorous in their sexual consumption of one another. There was something about being in a situation that meant one was very nearly close to death; it made them feel more alive than ever.

Pure effervescing life ran through them both, their bodies grinding together furiously as they groaned in abandon, kissing each other fervently, hands gripping, tongues licking, their desires ever spiralling as they continued to fuck wildly. 

It was everything they needed it to be, hot, frantic, passionate and culminating in the kind of orgasms that left them both speechless in the aftermath, Geralt lying there inside of her as he enjoyed the feeling of her cunt spasming gently around him as they kissed and stroked one another. 

“I think I’d like to do a lot more of this once the war is through. Lots of sex by the side of pretty rivers,” she finally said, Geralt smiling down at her. 

“You might wish to put such off until spring, perhaps. By the time we arrive back in the Grey Mountains it’s likely to be closer to winter. Remember when you stripped off in the forest while we were travelling to Rhinegaff? Feel free to surprise me like that again though and I’ll fuck you against as many snow-capped trees as you wish.” His suggestion received a giggle, Arelle stroking his face and kissing him.

“I do believe I like this idea of yours. I look forward to it, to spending long, cold nights having copious amounts of hot sex within the confides of the cottage, only leaving for the aforementioned pursuit of being fucked against a tree.” They shared laugher at this, basking in the sunshine for a little longer before getting up. 

Rinsing the blood from their clothes, they didn’t bother with a better job, knowing that their tent would offer a better solution with its magic once they arrived back at the camp. Once they did though, none of the tents were actually set out, everyone seeming to be dashing around in a panic. 

“Our scouts have arrived back with us, they bring news,” Kydrin told Arelle after running to her at speed, barely able to catch his breath. “The second wave of the Vulc approach from the east, along with a third wave who have appeared from nowhere, a fourth and fifth too. All lead by one. Mardryk. He’s here.”

At this moment, both Arelle and Geralt shared the exact same sentiment at the exact same moment.

“Fuck.” 


	30. Chapter 30

“Wait here. I have to find my brother.” Arelle told Geralt, Jaskier arriving with them and being filled in on the news while she ran, calling for Davrin. 

“Arelle! I’m here,” he called back after a few minutes, extracting himself from the other fighters and running over to her. “Have you heard?”

“Yes, yes I’ve heard,” she began, reaching to hug him tightly. “There’s not enough of us! This battle, it’s going to end us,” she spoke, running her fingers through her wet hair as dread flooded her. 

“There has to be something, we can’t just go into this knowing we’re heading to our deaths! We have to think of something.” They both began to pace up and down, holding hands tightly like they used to do when they were children and frightened over a noise they heard in the woods, thinking and thinking until Arelle looked up and saw their answer. 

“Nilhir,” she spoke, Davrin immediately looking up and all around.

“Where?” he asked, searching the skies still.

“No, he isn’t in the skies. But he could be, if we convinced him to fight for us,” she suggested, Davrin snorting with incredulity.

“Convince him? He’d fucking burn us to a crisp before we could even open our mouths to speak!” he shouted, shaking his head.

“That’s the risk we have to take. Either way, we die, but at least if we try and convince him and he still doesn’t want to assist us, we’ll die quickly from dragon fire and know that we tried our best to fight this with the ultimate force. Imagine though, imagine if he says yes? The power we will have will surely seal our victory!” she enthused, Davrin starting to warm to the idea before something vital occurred to him. 

“Wait, remember what happened last time though? Mardryk burned the dragons from the sky with their own fire. They wouldn’t want to risk it, he’d just do the same again and that’d be it, dead with no chance of defeating him,” he sighed, waving his hands around expressively.

“Unless you had someone, or two someone’s there to distract him,” Daida then offered after overhearing their plan, approaching with Florie.

“She’s right. If we hit him with our magic, he’ll be distracted for long enough for the dragons to do enough damage by fire to decimate his army.” she agreed, looking at Daida with enthusiasm. There it was, a plan had been formed. 

Knowing they had no time to take it to a vote with the other generals and risk it being voted down, it was decreed that Arelle and Davrin would slip away out of the line up just before the final charge to battle. It was a risk, a huge risk for them to face such danger head on, but there was no other choice. 

Word began to spread that the enemy was only a mile from their current location, the army readying itself and getting into formation, Arelle looking over to the mountains every so often. If she and Davrin moved as quickly as they could, they’d be there in minutes. 

“I think it’s time to face reality, my love. I doubt we shall survive this, although I intend to fight them like I will,” Geralt told her, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. She knew she shouldn’t tell him, she knew, but the words were leaving her mouth before she could stop them.

“As do I, but it shan’t be at your side. Davrin and I are going to the mountains in an attempt to persuade Nilhir to join forces with us,” she told him, moving to stand in front of him. 

“Arelle, no. He’ll burn you alive on sight. I’ve known of others to make that journey too, none of them survived his fire!” he told her urgently, not wanting such a fate for her. If she was to die, he wanted it to be by his side. Such a sentiment would usually never even enter his head, but the way he loved Arelle, it had changed him. 

“I have to!” She stated, before he interrupted.

“No, you do not! Do you think I want that for you, to meet your end via dragon fire? As deaths go, being roasted alive I can imagine is unbearable,” he shouted, Arelle cutting in.

“And being torn apart like my family were by the onslaught of the Vulc we don’t have the numbers to fight off is better?” she shouted with incredulity. He went to argue her decision some more, but was once again cut off by her words. 

“If this is the last time I ever see you, then just know I loved you like no other. Wherever we truly go when we die, I shall find you and if you don’t immediately follow, I shall wait for you. I’m determined that we will survive this though. I have to try, for everyone. For us. We cannot end like this, Geralt. I love you.” She told him with conviction, the roar of the Vulc audible as she gave him one last lingering kiss and then turned, running for the mountains with Davrin. 

She left him with no time to process anything, turning back to the enemy and withdrawing his sword as he hoped with everything he had within him that his tiny beloved could convince the greatest dragon who ever lived to come to their aid. 

“Do we have any idea where within the mountains his lair even is?” Davrin asked as they jumped from rock to rock at the very foot of them, beginning to ascend.

“I’d hazard a guess that we do not need to know the precise location. I think they’ll come to us, so we just have to keep climbing,” she replied as they began to spring up, scaling the rocks at speed. On and on they climbed, reaching the lower summits without issue, until. 

“Fuck! Get down!” Davrin shouted as literally out of nowhere, a huge, red dragon appeared, breathing fire straight at them. 

“Who dares enter our mountains? Nilhir will be informed of this!” he told them angrily, that anger only surging as he saw where they’d hidden themselves. 

“Shit, get away from the eggs! Oh seven goddesses, run!” Arelle screamed, another dragon she presumed to be the mother, a giant, blue beast appearing and breathing her fire as they leapt. That time, she felt her arm catch, the pain unbearable as her skin smouldered. 

“You cannot run from us, sprites! I demand to know who you are and why you trespass upon our territory,” the red dragon demanded once again, flying after them as they bounced over the land as quickly as they could move, zig zagging to avoid behind burned. It didn’t work though, both receiving burns to their legs before ducking behind a rock. 

“My name is Arelle and I travel here with my brother, Davrin. We need to ask for Nilhir’s assistance. We’re losing the war against Mardryk…” was as far as she got before she felt the rock blasted with fire, her and Davrin crouching down at low as they could before continuing to scatter. This time though, they were solely looking for a better hiding place. 

They both knew it had been a mistake to even attempt some kind of dialogue between them and the dragons, but they also realised they truly had no other choice. They had to try, even if it led to their demise. 

Springing over the terrain, they mostly narrowly avoided the fire of the dragons chasing after them, the sky then suddenly darkening considerably. A huge swoosh from above and a deafening screech marked the arrival of the dragon they’d come to see, the mighty Nilhir the Black. He was even bigger than they could have dared to imagine. 

“Up there, quick! Before he lands!” Davrin shouted, pointing to a little cave their smallness might just allow them to wriggle inside of, both of them springing up as Nilhir descended, not able to completely avoid his fire as they leapt a little too late, Arelle’s hands burning as she swung from the smooth, overhanging rock that lead to the cave. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Shit, that fucking hurt!” she hissed, examining her shaking, red hands, the skin starting to blister and bleed. 

“I heard your words, Arelle and Davrin. You have foolishly approached our lair in order to persuade us to fight in your war, I assume?” Nilhir asked, the ground shaking as he neared the cave, just about visible as he landed a few feet away from it. 

“We do, yes. Mardryk will kill us all, he’s here for complete domination of the entire Continent. We cannot hope to defeat him without you,” Davrin told him, the great dragon snorting in disgust.

“Were you little ones even born at the time of the Great War? Mardryk burned my family alive with their own fire, dragons fell from the sky like rain! Do you honestly expect us to compromise ourselves like that again, risk our eggs hatching to no parents? You have made a grave mistake, coming here!” he admonished them, anger palpable in his other worldly, rumbling voice. 

“We realise this, we truly do. We had to try though, for our families and friends. For the northern army, for the entire fucking Continent! I won’t stop trying to convince you either, not until you reduce me to flames if that is what you so decide!” Arelle shouted back with urgency. 

“You shan’t stop trying? From where I stand, a hidden sprite has given up. You aren’t even brave enough to face me, girl,” he taunted her with, making a strange, agitated hissing noise from his snout. She knew there was only one thing to do.

“Arelle, no!” Davrin hissed, trying to stop her. She yanked her shoulder free of his grasp, turning to hug him and kiss his cheek.

“Trust me.” Exiting the cave, she stood before the gargantuan dragon for the first time, utterly amazed by him. He was incredible. “You’re wrong. I’m brave enough,” she began, Nilhir narrowing his yellow eyes at her as he sucked in a breath, ready to scorch her. “We were brave together once too. Back when he came for us all before, just like he’s doing now! Are you so blind and arrogant that you cannot see that?

“What do you think will happen to you, Nilhir? Have you ever considered that you and your eggs shall not be spared his wrath? Do you honestly assume you can remain free and safe once he’s decimated all of us, that the Vulc will not feast on your carcasses after their master has used your fire to burn you from the sky? 

“You are the proudest, strongest, most fear inducing dragon who has ever lived. You are Nilhir the Black and you are an absolute legend. I grew up listening to stories told to me by my mother about you, but that brave and bold dragon cannot be the one who stands before me now. I must be mistaken, for it appears you wish to turn a blind eye in pure spite, and for what?”

Inside the cave, Davrin winced, peeking out as much as he could as he expected his sister to be burned to nothing at any second for the tone she took with the dragon. Instead though, the beast leaned his great head down towards her a little more, looking thoughtful. 

“We were kin once, we still are kin, Nilhir. Sprites were the dragon riders. Let us be all that we were to one another once more. Let us beat our enemy together, because look! We’re dying down there!” she then finished, casting her hand towards the battlefield before gently resting it to his huge scaly snout. 

It seemed to take a long, long time, an impenetrable pause for Nilhir to answer, the huge beast thoughtful, contemplating her words carefully. Tears prickled Arelle’s eyes as she waited in that silence, hearing her fellow northerners being slain on the battlefield below, praying to the seven goddesses that somewhere, Geralt was still alive and fighting on. 

“Please!” she sobbed, wiping her face with her charred sleeve, smearing black ash across her cheeks. 

“Climb aboard, Arelle. The case you have argued is one I cannot ignore. You are right, we were kin and without each other, we have nothing and shall be nothing in the face of Mardryk. Let us go and end him, this time forever. Astorak will take your brother,” he told her, Arelle leaping for joy as a large, blue dragon landed close by. 

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” she cried, climbing onto his wing and up onto his back, her burned hands stinging but elation flooding her. With two dragons, they could do it. They could beat him. Grabbing hold of his spines, she pushed her feet back against the ones behind her, the swoosh of his wings near deafening as Nilhir took off.

‘I’m riding a dragon. I’m riding a fucking dragon!’ she thought to herself in wonder, watching over the top of his head as they flew away from the mountains and towards the battlefield, her heart thundering in her chest like never before. 

“I’m coming, my love.” She whispered, seeing the mere dots that were her army coming into view, hopelessly outnumbered by the enemy. She prayed to the seven goddesses with all her soul that one of those dots who continued to fight on was Geralt.


	31. Chapter 31

In the chaos that swirled, knowing that he would likely die in this battle without ever seeing his beloved again, Geralt fought on savagely. If death was to take him, he wouldn’t make such a task easy at all. 

He split a man’s head with his sword, swinging it into the neck of another, using his powers to send four of them flying backwards before taking the head of a Vulc, seeing the army continuing to pour in over the horizon and knowing in his heart, no one would survive this. 

There were thousands and thousands of them, an impregnatable wall of men coming from the Nilfgaardian Empire, a swarm, a sea of dark, Vulc running with them, death approaching. Geralt knew this was it, this was the end. Just then though, from the air, he heard a noise that hadn’t been heard in over fifty years, a roar that made the ground shake and the enemy stop in their tracks. He heard him. 

“What the absolute fuck was that?” Jaskier shouted, swinging his sword into an oncoming man and disembowelling him. 

“That, my friend, was Nilhir the Black.” Geralt replied, looking to the sky to see the great, black dragon gaining on the battlefield, another to his side. They’d done it. She’d done it. At knowing this, pride swelled within him like never before for his brave little sprite. 

The screech above was utterly deafening as the gargantuan black beast suddenly descended, Geralt kicking one man in the chest and turning to take the head of another before he snatched a shield off the ground. 

“Jaskier!” he yelled, grabbing his friend and holding the shield over them both as he ducked down…

Holding onto his spines tightly, her burned hands bleeding, Arelle closed her eyes to the wind battering against her face, praying to the seven goddesses she didn’t fall to her death from Nilhir’s back. Her entire body screamed in pain as she felt him descend, but the taste of victory flooded her. If Daida and Florie could distract and hold Mardryk for long enough so that he couldn’t bring down the dragons, they would win. 

She could see the clear line of the gargantuan force that was their enemy, hoping that the northern army had the sense to get out of the way as they descended again. “Now, little sprite?” she heard Nilhir ask her as the ground was suddenly very close. 

“Now. Burn them!” She screamed, the great beast opening his mouth, drawing back a mighty breath and decimating the enemy with an inferno the likes of which she could hardly believe was real…

The heat of Nilhir’s fire hitting the top of the shield could be felt even through his armour as Geralt held it aloft, only emerging when he heard the swoosh of the dragon’s wings signalling his ascent again. Emerging from under their cover, he swung the pointed end of the shield into the neck of a Vulc who was running at them on fire, the northern army generals calling for everyone to fall back. 

Backward they moved, killing anything still living and attempting to come after them, this time being able to see the incredible sight that was Nilhir once again descending sharply from the air to cremate the enemy, men screaming, Vulc roaring. 

The second dragon who Davrin rode, a blue female Geralt recognised to be Astorak, descended and breathed her fire at the furthest point of the formation, the dragons working together to burn them from the outside in, making it impossible for the men and Vulc in the inner formations to escape. This was it, the battle would be theirs as long as Daida and Florie could fulfil their duty…

Watching his army burn, Mardryk turned his attentions to the skies, summoning the spell to burn the dragons alive with their own fire before suddenly two forces hit him, rendering him completely distracted. There in front and behind him stood Daida and Florie, appearing from portals and hitting him with their magic, the luminous bolts surging from their hands. 

All they had to do was hold him, but by the seven goddesses, they’d never felt anything like his resistance. Daida screamed with effort as she felt him fighting back against her, Florie feeling her arms beginning to shake as she looked up and saw Nilhir swoop down and blast the remaining Nilfgaardian army with his fire, Arelle just about visible on his back. 

“Hold on, Daida! Hold on!” Florie shouted, witnessing Daida’s nose beginning to stream with blood. The evil wizard knew the blonde mage held the greater power, so sent more energy to fight against her, hitting Daida in the chest as she tried with all her might to fight it. Being hit like that with magic so dark, she knew though. He had the upper hand.

“You children shall not beat me! Your magic is not strong enough!” Mardryk roared, sending extra of his power to Daida again, knowing she was weaker now. Florie increased her surge all she could, starting to cry as she saw her friend, her sister mage weakening, her eyes now streaming blood. 

“We might not be, but our army is! It’s over, Mardryk! Look at your forces, they burn on the ground!” Florie screamed at him, trying to make him turn his attentions from Daida.

“Never!” It didn’t work, he was deliberately weakening her, knowing she would fall first. The mage held on for all she could, reduced down to her knees now as she battled him, but it was no good. She was too weak and he too strong, Mardryk’s power taking her life as she collapsed down, leaving Florie screaming her name as her precious life flickered to nothing. It was up to her now. 

“You weren’t strong enough with your dead friend. What makes you think you can take me alone, little mage? You are weak! You are nothing!” he taunted her with, Florie feeling the heat of the flames as yet another jet of fire hit the ground, the screech of the dragons above ear splitting. 

“She isn’t alone.” Geralt told him, appearing from the side of the hill and swinging his sword to cleanly take Mardryk’s head, the evil wizard’s body slumping over as Florie collapsed to the floor. With one blow, it was over. The months of war, the suffering, the terror, it was now ended efficiently and quickly. 

Geralt had wanted to see if the mages could have dealt with him by themselves, never wanting to undermine their power. After witnessing Daida fall though, he knew Florie was in grave danger. Undermining her or not, he wasn’t going to let her fight him alone, moving through the fire under the shield to get to Mardryk’s vantage point. He knew the last thing the evil wizard would expect was a sneak attack from the side. 

“You did it, you, you killed him!” Florie gasped, attempting to get up. She was too weak, her strength zapped.

“You weakened him for me, Florie,” he told her, reaching to lift her to her feet. They stood on the hill and watched, fire and blood all around them, the dragons beginning to slowly ascend to landing now the enemy was completely quashed. “He’d have killed me in one on one combat. Even as a witcher, I couldn’t have fought him the way you did.” 

“You ended him though, ultimately. Everyone shall know this too,” she spoke, squeezing his arm to enforce her statement. The last thing she expected was for him to shake his head.

“No. I do not want it to become common knowledge that I killed him. I’m not the kind of man who could deal with that kind of accolade easily, more specifically the attention it would bring me. I reject such. You killed him, Florie, you were the one to end Mardryk.” She nodded dumbly, Geralt smiling and surprising her greatly by leaning down and kissing her cheek, whispering his thanks of her agreement.

He then moved aside as he saw Jaskier running for the hill, his friend covered the ground impressively to get to Florie, picking her up and swinging her around in his arms, telling her how wonderful and brave she was. Geralt smiled, sensing something had developed between them which he’d not noticed, walking over to where the mighty black dragon had landed to reunite with his love. 

He caught her in his arms, kissing her with relief as he felt her legs lock around him, stroking her face. She was alive, she had survived the impossible, a feat which he did not expect her to. What he felt as he held and kissed her was beyond anything he’d experienced before. Their time wasn’t over. 

“I’m sorry that I shouted at you. I needed to try though, just to see. We would have…” That was as far as she got before Geralt silenced her with the kind of kiss that knocked the wind right out of her. 

“I know, we would have lost either way had your plan not have worked. It did though, it did. You…you are wonderful…and brilliant…and brave…and a true warrior…and the love of my life,” he spoke, his statements punctuated by further kisses. 

“I love you so much,” she told him, stroking his face. 

“I love you too, tiny beauty,” he replied, setting her down. It was then that she cast her eyes around, her face falling as it inevitably would when she saw Daida, lifeless on the ground.

“No! No, no, no!” she sobbed hysterically, gasping as she ran to her, throwing herself down and stroking her cheeks. “Daida, wake up! Please, you can’t die now. Not now we’ve beaten him!” she cried, willing her to open her eyes. It was not to be though, grief hitting her in the chest as she cradled her head and wept. 

Florie moved to her side in an instant, putting her arm around her and holding onto one of Daida’s lifeless hands, the women both crying as they held one another, wishing it wasn’t so. War came with casualties and loss, this they of course understood. It didn’t mean losing their friend hurt them any less though. 

Geralt and Jaskier gave them their time to mourn their friend before approaching, offering them comfort through their sadness. It was just as Geralt turned her away and took hold of her hands to examine her buns that the ground shaking beneath them alerted to Nilhir approaching. 

“Arelle, here. Take them. For your burns,” he told her, nearing his head to her and blinking tears from his bright yellow eyes. Dragon tears, it was widely known, healed all wounds, but were only bestowed upon those the dragon in question held in the highest esteem. 

“What an incredible honour, to receive his tears. He must think very highly of you,” Geralt commented, watching as she bathed her hands in them as they rolled off his scales, her burns beginning to slowly heal over and fade. Everywhere she was burned, she rubbed the tears, the pain subsiding almost immediately.

“Tell your witcher he is correct,” Nilhir then said, Arelle relaying his words. The dragon then lifted his head and looked out upon the destruction, everything that remained from the war. The good might have won, but it was at a terrible expense. “I imagine perhaps only a few thousand of the northern army still stand. It is a great pity.” 

Continuing to talk, Arelle listened to him intently as they both stood and viewed what remained, the dragon lamenting the loss but offering encouraging words.

“What did he say?” Geralt asked, standing with them as they watched the fires continuing to burn below. 

“He said that from the ashes, we will be cleansed of our burdens and begin our lives anew. The losses we’ve faced served their purpose and we should honour our brave dead as we say goodbye, but it will never be goodbye from him and the rest of the dragons. Our alliance is forged in fire and triumph, as it surely will forever be,” she explained, before turning back to Nilhir.

“Thank you, my friend,” she told him, Nilhir leaning his mighty head down close to her and softly nuzzling her cheek. His humongous size was even more apparent next to her tininess. 

“You are welcome, Arelle. I in turn thank you for making me see how important it was to be on the same side once more, to this time end the enemies whom separated us in the first place,” he told her, Arelle gently stroking his scaly muzzle. 

She felt so honoured, that the gargantuan, tempestuous beast had allowed her to ride him into battle, to burn their enemies, to finally triumph in a war which had cost them so very much. “You will heal.” He then told her, looking between Daida’s body and her.

“I know. So many people have lost so much more. I still wish I hadn’t lost her though.” Nilhir told her he understood the pain of such loss before their talk turned to how they would commemorate their dead. The dragon suggested pyres, which seemed to be the easiest way to say goodbye to so many. A burial wouldn’t be possible. 

The dragons assisted in gathering each body and felling enough trees to make one giant pyre, Geralt gently lifting Daida into his arms and placing her down upon it once it was finished. A lump formed in her throat as she witnessed him stroke the mage’s pearly blonde hair affectionately, his hand then coming to grip Arelle’s shoulder as she leaned to kiss her head. 

“I love you. Your sacrifice shall never be forgotten. You shall never be forgotten.” She told her, stroking her blood-stained cheek as tears cascaded from her eyes. 

They moved back and stood at a safe distance, Nilhir using his fire to light the enormous pyre as they all watched their friends, kin and comrades burn, Arelle feeling Geralt’s arms wrap around her from behind as she watched the flames.

They all stayed, the last two thousand warriors, until the pyres were but embers before heading back to make camp for the night. After bathing, Arelle was content to do nothing more than curl up next to Geralt, stroking his nakedness as she lay there, not sure how to feel. 

“Feeling conflict is natural in a situation where multiple emotions are at play. We’ve defeated our enemy and are now free to return home, but it was at such a price. So many lives lost, beautiful Daida especially. I was fond of her; she will be missed.” Hearing him speak so kindly of her friend touched Arelle to tears, sniffing heavily as she wiped her eyes and kissed him.

She couldn’t help but lay there and cry herself to sleep in his arms, like he said, there was so many emotions swirling around within her and she had no clue how to process them. At that moment, they came out in the form of tears, Arelle feeling very fortunate she at least had Geralt right there next to her to dry them as they fell. 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warm thank you to those who continue to review and read. My gratitude is forever extended to you all.

Fire. Fire all around her, destruction in every direction she looked. Daida’s lifeless face. Geralt with his arm ripped off and half of his side missing, his eyes fixed in death. Her brother completely disembowelled. Mardryk laughing in triumph as the dragons did his bidding for him, the Vulc tearing everyone else to pieces, a set of claws striking her in the back. 

It was her shrill scream that woke her, sitting bolt upright in bed as she fought to breathe. The relief of feeling Geralt reach for her, enveloping her trembling body in his embrace and kissing her head was instantly soothing.

“Nightmare?” he asked, sounding gruff and sleepy still. 

“Yes. It was fucking horrific,” she began before detailing it to him. When she became distressed though, he stopped her. 

“Shhhh, don’t talk any further. I don’t need to know the details. The only thing I need is for you to know that it’s over and I’m here. It’s alright, my love.” He comforted her with, lying back down and clasping her to his chest. 

He felt her starting to calm down, her breathing steadying as her trembles lessened, her tense body starting to soften once more. 

“What if there’s some left? What if there’s bands of marauding Vulc still out there, or those fucking spider things? What if we encounter more as we try to get home?” she then suddenly asked, her head shooting up again. 

“Then you have the biggest, most formidable weapon on your side. You have Nilhir and he can fly you to wherever they are and scorch them. Or we fight them on the ground together with whomever might want to lend their swords. As it stands, you’re safe right now. After all, your new friend is literally just outside our tent.”

Nilhir and Astorak had stayed down at the foot of the mountains, lying in guard around all who remained of the northern army. The dragon had stated he did not trust that there might be more out there, offering to keep the watch just in case he was right while the battle-weary slept. 

“You also have me. I might not be a dragon, but do you honestly think I’d let anything happen to you? You are as safe as safe can be, my sweet little sprite,” he continued, Arelle nodding as she rested her hair against his chest again.

“Thank you. I love you so much.” She told him, Geralt returning the sentiment as he made himself lie awake. He wanted to wait until she’d drifted off first, no matter how tired he was. 

He saw it so clearly, how the months and months of war had enervated her, the culmination of such now being that she couldn’t relax. She needed some time to heal, no one knew this more than him.

They said goodbye to the dragons the following morning, Nilhir telling Arelle that if she ever needed him in the future, or if she just wanted the simplicity of his company, all she had to do was speak his name into the wind and he would fly to her. 

Jaskier and Florie departed alone, the former wanting to take the woman he seemed to be in a budding relationship with to a few places she wished to visit before returning to the grey mountains, Geralt and Arelle also choosing to continue their journey alone too. They wanted and needed time just to be by themselves, to be quiet. 

Geralt also sensed that Arelle just couldn’t cope with too many people around her at that moment, needing to replenish with only him there. Through the help of a few drops of the potion he’d given to her firstly back when she’d been attacked by a troll almost a year before, she spent a good amount of time asleep. 

It was just what she needed too, dreamless sleep. No nightmares to contend with as she rested, Geralt never far away from her. Their tent was pitched in the north of Ghelibol, right at the foot of the Kestrel Mountains, which was a truly beautiful part of the Continent to be in. 

It seemed to be doing her good, he noted, relaxing within such idyllic surroundings, not a soul for miles around. After a few days he stopped giving her any of the potion, Arelle suffering a few more nightmares before they began to become less frequent. 

After a week, he was pleased to note that she was more or less back to her old self, the happier sprite he knew and loved returning to him, becoming carefree and relaxed once more. 

“Did you really just use my lance to catch a fish?” Arelle asked one morning, coming to sit on the edge of the river, completely naked after her long, long sleep. “Oh look! It’s a salmon!” she then squeaked with excitement over the fact she’d get to eat her favourite fish.

“Yes. It’s only taken me a fucking hour to get one for you. The rest have been mostly pike.” He replied, smacking a rock over the fish’s head to kill it quickly before he slit its belly to gut and clean it. He knew it was her favourite so didn’t want to come away with a poor substitute. 

The horses grazed on long tethers while Arelle bathed and Geralt built a fire to cook the fish over, the late summer sun shining down on them, only a hint of coolness in the air. She then dressed in one of his black shirts, the garment huge on her tiny frame, sunning herself while she ate. 

“Not that I don’t love this little holiday we appear to be taking, but can we get moving tomorrow please? I’m eager to return home. I want to make sure papa and Clauda are safe. Davrin will likely be back there by now. I suppose I should have returned with him,” she asked, sounding a little guilty at the end. 

“You needed to take some time for yourself, don’t feel bad about doing that,” Geralt began, washing his food down with a mouthful of beer. It was the last they had and with no money either, he knew he’d likely have to look for work along their journey. “Also yes, tomorrow we shall leave for the Grey Mountains. I’ve missed home.”

“I enjoy the way you refer to it as home now,” she told him, moving to lie back against his legs.

“Truly anywhere you are is home to me.” He replied, kissing her atop her head. They spent a little more time relaxing before Geralt made his desires known to her, finally feeling he could instigate such without being insensitive to her.

“Mmmm, I missed that mouth,” she murmured as he bent to kiss the side of her neck. 

“I can guess there’s a certain other place where you’d like to feel it more so at present.” His hand slipped down her body between her legs, fingers exploring her slit with tentative strokes. Undressing, she then turned and pulled him down on top of her, kissing him urgently. 

Her hands pawed at his clothes, wanting him to be just as bare as she was. He pinned her arms down above her head though, compromising a little by removing his shirt, but keeping his leather trousers intact. 

He knew it would frustrate her, Geralt laughing quietly at her little frustrated growls as he continued to pin her down, kissing her neck as he ground his erection against her hip. She wrapped her legs around him, attempting to push herself against that solid mass, feel it pressing her clit but instead had him remove her legs and slide down. The substitute he offered her a moment later was a worthy trade. 

A soft moan escaped her lips as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of both Geralt’s mouth all over her pussy as well as the sunshine that shone down on her nakedness. The repeated roll of his tongue over her clit caused a beautiful rush of pleasure to flood through her, her abdomen shuddering as he stroked her skin with his fingertips. 

He was so hungry for her that he licked and sucked at her womanhood with no reserve, like he was starving, craving her as he groaned at how her wetness flowed so easily onto his tongue. Arelle could barely lie still, she was so aroused by him. 

Her hands ran through his hair, hands gripping his huge arms, crying out as her little bud was stimulated by fast, hard licks. “Well, you certainly did miss my mouth, didn’t you?” He asked, her loud wail making him laugh a little smugly. He loved how much he turned her on.

“Yes, don’t stop! Please don’t stop, Geralt!” she pleaded, an almost strangulated moan leaving her mouth as she felt him thrust two fingers within her slippery heat.

“Not until I bury every last inch of my cock within you, my love.” He told her, fucking her hard with his fingers and moving to kiss her ardently before his mouth was back between her legs, sucking on her clit until she screamed. He then switched to lighter pressure, making her chest heave with effort as she panted and groaned, switching back to firmer once more, then lighter again until she was an absolute wreck. 

He knew she was close, moving his tongue faster over her nub until her hands yanked his hair, thighs writhing against his face as she cried out. Undoing his trousers to pull his erection out, he sat up and true to his word, buried every inch of it within her just as she’d started to cum, the wild flexing of her wet cunt absolutely scintillating to him.

Having copious amounts of sex out in the sunshine, gradually leading to the same under the light of the moon was how they chose to spend their last day there, moving on the next morning, homeward bound. 

After a few weeks of travelling though, Arelle’s excitement growing by the day until the horses stepped foot over the border, they sadly found that upon approach to the cottage through the forest, there was no home to come back to. 

Nearing what remained of the cottage, Arelle clasped her hands over her mouth, stifling a little sob when she took it in, her beautiful little home absolutely destroyed.

“It must have happened when the Vulc came through heading south. I’m so sorry, my darling,” Geralt told her after they’d climbed down from the horses, holding her tightly as she cried. “We can rebuild it though, until then we have the tent too.” 

“I know, it’s just wood and bricks and I shouldn’t be upset. It was mine though, something I built mostly on my own. I was proud of it and very much looking forward to it being ours,” she lamented, drying her eyes and thinking practically. “Let’s look through the mess and see if there’s anything worth salvaging.”

As it turned out, there was. The way the roof had collapsed meant that some of her possessions had survived the elements. The dried meats in the cold store were all salvageable, her knitting and a lot of her personal clothes too. Sadly, all of her furniture had been destroyed though, but a few little trinkets and some jewellery items were intact. 

Using some of the logs which built the structure of the cottage, they made a cart of sorts to store everything on, deciding to head further north to make sure all was well with Davrin and her father. 

Lashing the logs together and then making rope harnesses for the horses, they filled the cart and with one last look, Arelle shed a few more tears before jumping onto Storm’s back, leaving the ruins of her former home behind. 

She knew the loss she’d faced would take her some time to recover from, but she would. With Geralt by her side, she absolutely would.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the end is here. I want to thank those who read, particularly those of you who offered regular commentary, which is honestly what keeps us writers going. I would have loved to have heard from more of you, but I'm slowly beginning to accept that this isn't the way any longer and people are less likely to offer feedback these days. Well, I just hope you silently enjoyed it as much as I did writing it.

_Two years later._

Closing the animals into the barn for the night, Arelle pulled her big scarf around her neck a little tighter, the first winter chill sharp against her skin. Looking up to the sky as she walked back to her home, she saw the first flakes of snow beginning to drift through the air, decorating the dark sky. 

Entering her house she was greeted by Star, the big, black wolf nuzzling her hand affectionately. She had wondered how she would take to being around livestock, of course no matter how domesticated she was still a natural predator, but the wolf understood whom she could and couldn’t eat. There was no way Arelle could part with her, the last little bit she had left of her father. 

Indris had sadly been a casualty of the war, forcing Clauda to take the portal out of there before him, staying behind to make sure as many women and children left before he was prepared to. His selflessness ultimately led to him leaving the mortal realm in the same way his wife and other children had, dying in battle against the Vulc. 

Arelle had been inconsolable upon arriving at her brother’s home to be told, only suffering the loss of her home two days before. Her grief was so overwhelming that Geralt had drugged her with the same potion he’d used in the past to keep her asleep, putting her to bed in their tent. ‘She’s gone through too much. First Daida, then her home and now her father. One person can only suffer so much at once’ he’d told Davrin, who agreed. 

“Look, fresh mutton, just for you!” she told Star, throwing her a raw leg, the wolf catching it gratefully before padding back into the lounge, leaving Arelle to serve herself some mutton stew from the cauldron over the kitchen fireplace and join her. 

Her new home, just on the borders of the huge forest which stretched through Fenris Morr all the way to Rhinegaff, was beautiful. Spacious and built well, it was filled with everything she could ever want, except one very specific thing at that moment.

“He’ll be home soon, girl. Look at you, you miss him nearly as much as I do.” She told Star, who after eating her sheep’s leg sat and looked at the front door expectantly, waiting for her master to walk back through it. 

Geralt had been gone for three months, out on a hunting mission somewhere across the north east of the Continent. He liked to stay in the north, finding enough work to keep him busy and never wanting to be a few week’s ride away from Arelle at any given point unless he could really help such. 

The truth was, neither were short of money after the war, but both stuck to their pledges not to cramp one another. They were both very independent people, after all. Their monetary gain came in the form of the new queen of the Grey Mountains rewarding them for their efforts, showing them favour. Of course she would, queen Florie considered Arelle and Geralt to be amongst her closest friends. 

Their reward came in the form of her ransacking the royal treasury, giving them coins and gold in the kind of abundance that would mean they’d be financially set for building their new home, acquiring land and animals and being able to save for the future. ‘It is the least I can do. Your refusal to reveal yourself as the true killer of Mardryk is why I am on the throne in the first place’ Florie told Geralt at the time. 

He’d replied that with her level head, strength and good heart, whether it was he who had truly ended Mardryk or not, she deserved to be queen. She was a hero to the people of the Grey Mountains, the queen who had done what her predecessor should have so many years ago. 

She’d taken his praise with furious blushing, halting him just before they left the vault when it was just them alone and giving him a hug of thanks. ‘I also want to give something to you, but you mustn’t show Arelle’ she’d then whispered, before pressing a jewel into his hand. 

‘It’s a fire onyx, Arelle’s favourite gem. She’s always wanted a piece of jewellery with one set into it, but with its cost and rarity she’s never been able to afford such. Kesrin had a staggering amount of hoarded jewels, but I knew this one should be Arelle’s as soon as I saw it. When the time is right you can have it set into an engagement ring for her. I assume that is where your relationship is heading.’ 

He confirmed that it was, that one day he did intend on making Arelle his wife but was in no rush to do such at that moment before pocketing the jewel and leaving the vault with the queen. The north had been restored to its former glory thanks to Florie’s generosity with the contents of the vault, decreeing that the riches within far exceeded anything she would ever need in her long lifetime.

Homes were rebuilt, families who had lost their loved ones to the war financially compensated also in thanks for such sacrifice. Florie was a popular monarch, beloved by her people but still so down to earth. It was not an out of place right to see the queen nip into a local tavern with her guardsmen to enjoy a few drinks amongst her people. 

Sadly though, her taking the throne had meant her budding romance with Jaskier had to end. He being a human would of course be frowned upon considerably, especially by Florie’s parents, who were high born sprites and expected her to marry her own kind and class. It would have caused scandal, for the queen of the Grey Mountains to be seen in a relationship with a man neither or her kind nor class. 

There was a place for him at court though, as the queen’s bard. This meant he got to see a fair amount of Geralt whenever he travelled to Rhinegaff, liking that he wasn’t far from his grumpy old friend. The truth was though, the friend he’d met so many years ago was nowhere near as grumpy as he once was. Geralt would never be a jolly fellow, but finding Arelle had thawed his frostiness somewhat. 

He loved her immeasurably, just as she did him. Geralt had been the one to help her overcome her losses at the end of the war, staying at home in the north for the eight months it took for their new home to be built, making sure it was finished and she was feeling comfortable before he left her for the first time. 

She was perfectly content, filling their new home with furnishings and busying herself with the purchase of livestock. Those seven weeks he was away for flew by as she’d rebuilt a life for not just her, but him too. Sitting in an armchair she had had made to look exactly like the one she lost, Arelle sat and stared at the firelight after eating her dinner, thinking how lucky she was.

Yes, she’d faced a lot of loss in her short life, but the things she had gained, a loving man in Geralt, a beautiful new home and the kind of farm she’d always dreamed of having, they were definitely bringers of contentment which made for a happy life. Two years on and the horrors of war seemed very far away. She’d never forget though. 

There was a small patch on her ankle that she’d missed when healing her wounds with Nilhir’s tears, a little burn that she often sat and stroked, remembering all those months she’d spent away at war. She found herself thinking of them that night too, curled up by the fire with Star’s humongous head in her lap. 

“I have to stop doing this.” She said upon waking the following morning, finding she’d fallen asleep in the armchair. Again. She often did when Geralt was away, not liking to be within their huge bed by herself so much. 

Star howled at the door to be let out, the giant wolf hurtling from the house once Arelle had put on her boots, doing the morning rounds while her wolf ran off to explore the forest, as she often did throughout the day. Her favourite time was at night though, out with her mistress hunting. 

That evening was no exception, bounding around the forest after Arelle, the spite nimbly jumping through the trees, both then stopping and becoming silent when presented with a kill. That night though, the last stag they were hunting would get away, disturbed by another large beast coming through the darkness of the forest. 

Arelle couldn’t help herself, remembering back to three years ago as she took an arrow from her quiver and pulled it back in her bow… 

“What kind of fool fires arrows around in the near darkness?” Geralt remembered too, it seemed, speaking those same words to her as he had on the night they’d first met. 

“This fool over here, the one who loves you,” she replied, bouncing over the ground to meet him while Star ran after the spooked stag. 

“Well, as long as it’s you,” he told her, jumping down from Roach’s back and catching her in his arms. They might have been just fine with spending long periods of time apart, but that didn’t mean they missed one another any less. “How are you, tiny beauty?”

“I’m well, I’ve just had a fantastically fruitful hunt. One stag, one older doe and two boars. How are you? Your face! What happened here?” she asked with concern, kissing him a few times before looking at the stitched gash leading down from his ear to his jaw. 

“Would you believe it was a Vulc? A very stupid and very nearly dead young man had been keeping it chained up to use as intimidation in order to extort money out of people. Until it escaped, that is. In my haste to shoo Roach away after encountering it riding from one village to the next during my search, it got too close and almost took my face with it.” 

Looking a little closer, Arelle could see his wounds extended to his neck as well, shuddering with how close they’d come to leaving him mortally wounded. The rest of the Vulc had been hunted down and slaughtered just a few months after the end of the war, so it was shocking to hear of one still being alive, even more so that someone had been idiotic enough to keep it as a macabre pet.

“I cannot fathom such idiocy, to keep one of those hideous creatures alive. How many chains did it take to hold it? How did he even capture it in the first place? Actually, I don’t wish to know. You returning to me in one piece is all I care about,” she told him, kissing him longingly as she felt his arms wrap around her. 

They headed back to their house, taking her hunting kills into the out building to gut and clean them properly, Arelle quickly taking the largest boar and the doe to the local tavern to meet the local innkeeper who wanted to purchase them, coming back to find Geralt hanging the stag pelt. 

After finishing preparing the carcases and washing, they exited the out building, Geralt putting his fingers to his lips and letting out a piercing series of whistles. Waiting a few moments, he then heard a howl in the distance. Star knew her master had returned. 

He caught the huge wolf much the same way he had Arelle, Star yapping excitedly as she waged her tail frenziedly and licked his face. 

“Yes, I’m pleased to see you too, you smelly creature. Your breath smells awful, as usual.” He told her, displeasure all over his face except for his smile. He loved the wolf more than he’d ever admit to anyone. 

Once inside, Geralt made a start to prepare himself a bath while Arelle began dinner, having him do his usual helpful hindrance routine by stealing vegetables as she chopped them, receiving smacks to the chest for pilfering slices of raw carrots. 

“Make yourself of use and pluck the chicken! Go!” she scolded, shoving him in the direction on the dead bird. 

“Are you still saving the feathers?” he asked, retaliating by pinching her on the side of the ribcage, where she utterly hated to be touched. After she’d finished screaming and giggling at such, she confirmed that yes, she was. She’d been using them to stuff pillows and little decorative cushions with, two items she took to the Rhinegaff markets with her to sell upon her stall. 

Once all of the food preparation was done, Geralt happily sank into the bath, drinking mead straight from the bottle and soon being joined by Arelle. Her bathtub had been one of the items to survive the collapse of her former cottage, a few dents needed hammering out but otherwise, it was fine.

With his love resting against his chest, his aches being soothed by the hot water while he watched snow tumbling from the sky outside, he was the picture of an extremely content man. There was one point in his life where he would not have entertained what he had with Arelle whatsoever, but being with her was absolutely effortless. 

They by no means had a perfect relationship, their tempers flared at times and they couldn’t stand the sight of one another, but such moments were few and far between. What they had was special and they both cherished one another dearly, having deep and profound love, respect and admiration of one another. 

Then, of course, there was what had attracted them in the first place, the chemistry that had led to them tearing one another’s clothes off mere minutes after they’d met for the first time. What they shared physically was still very much magmatic. 

That night after bathing and eating, the sexual fires between them burned well into the small hours, both lying there afterwards in the candlelight, stroking one another as they talked. 

“This smile,” she commented, stroking his face before kissing him tenderly. “I adore that this smile is just for me.” 

“It will never be for anyone else, my love,” he replied, kissing the tip of her nose, his fingers wrapping her hair around them as he basked in her adoration, very happy to be reunited with her once more. Having her warm little body pressed against his was what he missed most on the long, cold nights without her. 

“What on earth is that tapping noise? I could hear it while we were having sex, but I was too busy enjoying myself to investigate,” she then suddenly stated, sitting up with a puzzled frown as the sound became audible again.

“It sounds like it’s coming from the window,” he told her, Arelle getting up to investigate. Opening the thick curtain she looked around, noticing the snow still coming down plentifully as the ivy that decorated the front of their home swayed in the wind. It was that which she noticed to be causing the noise, or more precisely something that was tied to it. 

Opening the window she reached out into the cold and caught the piece of ribbon tied tightly to the vines, undoing the bow and bringing the ring tied to it back inside. Looking at it properly, she gasped at its beauty, a large fire onyx twinkling its beautiful orange hue from the otherwise pitch blackness of the stone. 

She was absolutely overcome at seeing a piece of jewellery so beautiful, but what truly shocked her to the bone was turning around to see Geralt out of bed and down on one knee.

“Will you marry me, Arelle?” 

“You…you…” she began, eyes wide, hardly able to speak. “I absolutely did not think you had it in you, to be this adorably romantic!” she then continued, wiping her eyes as her tears flowed. “Yes.” 

With that, he took the ring from her and slid it onto her finger, relieved that it fit. Standing up he pulled her close to him, stroking her back as he kissed her. “You’re supposed to stop crying now,” he whispered, making her giggle. 

“I can’t! How dare you be so lovely and force me to succumb to my emotions by being the most wonderful, loving man I have ever met!” she exclaimed through her laughter and tears, examining her ring. “And this? This is the most beautiful ring I have ever seen. I adore it, just as I adore you.” 

To this, he smiled, picking her up and carrying her back to bed, whispering how much he loved her as he stroked and kissed her all over, more enamoured with her than ever before. 

They were married the following spring, their ceremony small and simple, held at the top of one of the waterfalls that flanked the palace and attended by a small number of guests. There, they promised each other love, fidelity, devotion and respect, from that day until their last day, kissing each other with joy as they were pronounced husband and wife. 

From that day on, they both lived a life full of contentment, adventure and sometimes a lot of danger, their long lives together seeing through many notable events, their love for one another burning brighter as the centuries rolled past. 

They had just under four hundred happy years together, until sadly the last day came for Geralt. Just like he once predicted as a younger man, it was his work as a witcher that lead to his demise, glad that he at least managed to return home to his wife with the little strength he had left. 

Arelle cared for him just as she always had, sadly knowing her beloved husband likely would not survive his wounds. Curling up with his warmth next to her one night, she awoke in the morning to find her love cold, his beautiful amber eyes fixed in the glaze of death. As her eyes blinked tears onto his face, she shut them as she kissed him one final time, utterly heartbroken that he was gone. 

She lived out the rest of her life, another five hundred years, without ever taking another lover, let alone remarrying. She told her family she would never love another like she loved Geralt, her kin understanding. Their love for one another was famed for being one of the greatest, after all. 

At nine hundred and ninety-six years old, Arelle took her final breath in the home she and Geralt had built so long ago, closing her eyes and slipping away from the world she knew, her spirit taking her into another, but one which was all too familiar. 

Looking around, she found herself back in the forest she’d once lived, seeing the familiar sight of her old cottage she’d built as a young sprite up ahead, the chimney smoking as the windows glowed from the fire and candlelight within. 

Looking down at her hands, she no longer saw the withered, spotted hands of an older sprite, but those of youth. In her death, she was young again, as she was so many hundreds of years ago. She walked slowly to the cottage, looking all around, the sights and smells familiar and welcoming, but none more so than the one who opened the door.

“Welcome home, my love,” Geralt told her, looking just as he had when they first met. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.” There he was, her endless, forever love, at long last. She truly was home. 

She beamed at him happily, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. Love swelled richly in her heart as she sank into his arms and kissed him, reunited with him for all eternity as outside, the snow slowly began to fall.

The End. 


End file.
